


Root and Shaw: A Choose Your Own Adventure fic

by SpicyCheese



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: (though unlike the books I promise none of the choices will end with death), And DesignatedDriver!Leon!, And Undercover!Finch, And drug-induced snow angels!, And now featuring nuns!, And people setting their own arms on fire for fun and science!, And the Polish Mob!, Choose Your Own Adventure, Crack, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, Other, Tags will be added as chapters are added!, for sure, maybe some angst (as there often is), we'll see as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyCheese/pseuds/SpicyCheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the style of the classic <i> Choose Your Own Adventure</i> books, you the reader get to determine the direction the story goes. Every chapter will end with 2 or 3 options and depending upon what people want, we'll go that way! </p><p>The setting is those blissful, pre-Samaritan days when mostly everyone was still alive and the main concern was dealing with numbers. Other than that, there are no rules. Let's see what insanity will ensue to finally get these two together, shall we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been debating trying this out for a while- wasn't sure if anyone would be interested- but here it is anyway! I figured starting the hiatus off with some humor and absurdity and fluff might be just the ticket. Enjoy!

*_*_*_*_*

Screams of pain shoot like lightning across the expanse of the abandoned warehouse lot. Root can’t think of a better start to the day.

She and Shaw are just finishing up a particularly tumultuous run in with a biker gang peddling meth, just an hour outside the city. Their ammo was long gone by the time the bikers caught up and the situation wasn’t looking particularly good… until Shaw manage to get ahold a one of the bikers’ knives.

It was over very quickly after that.

No matter how many times Root sees Shaw in action, she never loses that sense of awe. Shaw is quick, efficient and brutal- all qualities that Root greatly admires.

Root watches as Shaw shucks the blade from where it’s sheathed in the lead biker’s back, and makes her way towards the truck they stole earlier.

Root catches up quickly, sliding in the passenger side of the cab as Shaw turns over the ignition.

“You’ve got a little something...” Root starts, moving to wipe the blood smear from Shaw’s cheek. Her hand is batted away before it reaches its destination though, and Shaw swipes at the spot on her cheek with the back of her own hand- which just smears more blood.

Root runs her eyes over the length of Shaw’s body as they pull back onto the main road. The crimson pattern adorns the rest of Shaw’s clothing too, and Root bites her lip and chides herself slightly because what does it say about either of them that blood spattered is one of the looks Root finds most attractive on Shaw?

 _Desires aside_ , Root thinks, _There’s practicality to attend to_. “I don’t think we’re going to go far with you looking so... conspicuous. We’re going to need to stop somewhere and get you out of those clothes...” _Okay, well, needs and wants do sometimes overlap_.

Shaw rolls her eyes at the innuendo, but otherwise ignores it. “Ask The Machine where the nearest place _I_ can grab some clothes, then.”

The Machine chimes in Root’s ear, and she verbalizes it. “Next exit. There’s a second hand clothing store. They have donation bins in the alley out back so we won’t have to go into the actual store. You can find something there.”

“Fine. The faster we get out of here the faster I can get something to eat. Preferably, a really good steak.”

“You’re in the mood... for _steak_?” Root grins, taking in the Shaw’s bloodied appearance and the equally bloodied knife laying on the seat between them.

“Yes,” Shaw answers flatly, paying more attention to the road than Root. “Not likely I’m going to find a good one in middle-of-nowhere Upstate though...”

Root almost jumps as The Machine chimes in again, _loudly_ , this time. “Well She says a place called Alexander’s down the road from here that has an excellent steak.”

“Doubt it.” Shaw huffs, parking the truck, exiting and heading over to start riffling through the donation bin.

Root hops out and moves to help dig through the bin as well. After a few moments, The Machine chimes in again. Root frowns, “For some reason, She is _insisting_ the intel is viable.”

“What intel?” Shaw asks distracted. She holds up a pair of dark colored jeans to herself, only to find they’re about 6” too long. She discards them and continues her search.

“The steak intel, apparently.”

Shaw finally looks up at Root, brow furrowed. “So suddenly your all-seeing, all-knowing AI has nothing better to do than make restaurant recs?”

Root shrugs, and continues digging through clothes again. “Oh this looks perfect- it’s your size too,” Root grins before tossing her prize- a flamingo pink, taffeta prom dress- towards her shorter companion.

Shaw catches it before it hits her in the face. “No.”

“Why not?”

“No place to put my gun,” she sneers, oozing sarcasm.

“Oh relax,” Root sing-songs. “It’s just for a little while. Besides, the sooner you change, the sooner you can get that steak, right?"

Shaw glowers lower, and grits her teeth, "Fine." She grabs an oversized tan trench coat from the pile as well, before ducking behind the large bin to change.

When she finally emerges, Root doesn't even begin to mask her amusement as she rakes her eyes up and down the shorter woman.

Shaw's scowls in response- which only adds the absurdity of her pink-ruffled appearance. "Not a word," she growls as they both move to hop back into the truck. "And this place of yours better have takeout," she mutters.

"I hope so because I don't think you'll meet the dress code, Colombo," Root grins again, closing the truck door behind her before adding, "Well, _their_ dress code at least. You always look good _me_."

Shaw lets out a annoyed huff in response, but before things go any further, a voice rings through their coms.

 _“Ms. Shaw? Ms. Groves? How are things going with our friends the bikers?”_ Harold’s clipped voice trills in their ears.

“All taken care of Harry,” Root chirps back.

_“Glad to hear it, Ms. Groves, but I need you both back here as soon as you can. We have another number.”_

“Will do,” Root answers, before the line goes dead. She turns to Shaw, who’s already turning over the keys in the ignition. “Sorry Sweetie, looks like we’ll need a raincheck on that date. Just as well, I suppose,” she grins. "I don't have a corsage for you anyway."

Shaw rolls her eyes once more before turning the truck around, back towards the city.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

The trip back to the library was quiet and uneventful. They arrived shortly before noon and after quickly changing clothes- swapping the absurd pink monstrosity of a dress for her spare set of black-on-black shirt and jeans combo- and grabbing a granola bar to tide her over, Shaw joins Root and Harold upstairs at the computer.

“Will the big lug be joining us?” Root asks, as Shaw enters, moving to sit on the edge of the desk across from them both.

“No, unfortunately Mr. Reese will be assisting Detective Fusco with a matter of some importance across town. So I’m afraid you’ll have to work this one yourselves.”

Shaw looks up in time to see Root’s smile widen at this. She meet’s Shaw’s eyes, and gives her a little wink, before returning her attention to the computer screen. Shaw frowns at this slightly, but Harold interrupts any thoughts she may have on the matter, and draws her attention once more.

“Meet our new number,” he begins. “Benjamin Polk. I don’t have too much information just yet so I’ll need you both to get closer to him to gain more information. I’m in the process of creating cover identities for both of you.”

“Why can’t we just do regular surveillance?” Shaw asks.

“Well, it seems Mr. Polk has a rather... tricky occupation for surveillance…”

“Harold,” Shaw growls, impatience growing. The adrenaline from the fight earlier has long since subsided, leaving her itching for more. “What exactly does this guy do for a living?”

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???------->

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay- first set of choices for you all! What should the number's surveillance-tricky job be?:
> 
> A). Catholic Priest
> 
> B). Sewer Inspector
> 
> C.) Rodeo clown
> 
>    
> I have several ideas for each of these so the choice is all yours! You can leave your votes (or anything else!) in the comments below or on tumblr (spicycheeser.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Vote early, vote often- where this goes is entirely up to you all! Power to the people!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The people have spoken and the number’s new occupation is… A.) Catholic Priest!
> 
> The voting was _EXTREMELY CLOSE_ though. So close, in fact, that after this I’m most likely going to go back and write the Rodeo Clown one too because it’s too good to pass up (but one thing at a time!).
> 
> That being said, on with the show!

*_*_*_*_*

 

 “Harold,” Shaw growls, impatience growing. The adrenaline from the fight earlier has long since subsided, leaving her itching for more. “What exactly does this guy do for a living?”

Harold hesitates a moment before answering. “Benjamin Polk joined the seminary after college. Since then he’s been Father Benjamin- pastor of St. Augustine’s parish, and rector of St. Augustine’s Middle School, next door. Though, it appears the nuns from the convent really do most of the day to day business at the school.”

There’s a pause- a solid and weighty moment of absolute silence before Shaw blinks, and shakes her head. “Nuns. Really. You think _we_ ,” she gestures between Root and herself, “Are going to pass for _nuns_?”

Root grins at her, squeezing her arm as she walks by, shifting to the other side of the table. “Shouldn’t be hard- you look so _good_ in black,” she purrs in Shaw’s ear, before Shaw promptly shakes her off.

“Believe me Ms. Shaw,” Harold begins again. “I looked into all other options before settling upon this one. There are no cameras feeds to access, no cellphones to clone and little personal information about the clergy and religious living on the grounds. The most efficient and effective way will be to have both of you on site.”

“I’m wondering if you really need _both_ of us undercover for this?” Root asks, with a soft smile. “I’m sure Sameen can cover it fine on her own.”

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Groves. Without knowing where the threat is coming from, we’ll need to have someone covering both the parish operations as well as the school’s and it appears that there are not currently any staff members assigned to do both. It will be more efficient and less conspicuous this way, for one of you to cover each.”

Root’s smile falters slightly before recovering. “Well,” she says with a shrug, “I mean, I could just pose as a new parishioner right? That’d give us just as much access…”

Harold turns his attention to her properly, pausing a moment, pursing his lips in thought before continuing. “Ms. Groves I’ve seen you change identities dozens of times without pause, which leads me to wonder… is something about this particular assignment that is making you uneasy, perhaps?”

There's a slight flash of something behind Root’s eyes, but it’s gone in a blink, replaced by a saccharine smile. “Of course not Harry. Just making sure we’re all placed where we’ll be the most effective.”

Harold holds her gaze for an extended moment before turning back to the desk. “Glad to hear it Ms. Groves.” He grabs two manila envelopes off the desk before turning back around, and handing one to each of them. Both women begin opening the packages, complete with IDs and information, as Harold continues. “That is why _your_ cover will be assigned to the parish office. You’ll have access to the parish records- financial and otherwise- and will be able to keep the closest eye on our number. I have Ms. Shaw placed in the school, so she will be able to gather intel from the other staff there. I’ve arranged it so that the two nuns you’ll be replacing have been called away temporarily on mission work and you’ve both been assigned as their replacements. Upon arrival you’ll meet with Father Benjamin and Mother Superior Sister Margaret Elizabeth.”

“Hacking the Catholic church. That must be a new one. How’s your conscience after that Harry?” Root grins.

“I assure you I’ll sleep just fine if we can prevent something more tragic from happening.”

“Sister _Agnes_? Really Harold?” Shaw deadpans, looking up from her dossier to glare at him.

He shrugs and Shaw turns to Root, ripping her documents out of her hand to inspect them. “And she gets to be something normal like Sister Mary Katherine?”

“I think we have more important things to do than quibble about aliases Ms. Shaw. Every moment you are here Mr. Benj- sorry, _Father_ Benjamin’s life is in danger.”

“He’s right Sam, we should get going,” Root smiles. “We’ll be in touch, Harry,” she says, tugging Shaw by the sleeve, headed towards the subway exit.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw pulls at the dark brown robes, shifting uncomfortably beneath them. “Are you sure Finch got these right? I thought nuns always wore black?” She says, continuing to pull at them, unsuccessfully.

As both women climb the front stairs of the school, Root grabs one of Shaw’s hands, pulling it away from the fabric it was attacking. “I’m sure he did his research Sameen. Let’s focus on blending in,” she says serenely.

Shaw yanks her hand from Root’s grasp. “You might want to consider toning down the touchy-feely shit then. I don’t think they’re _those_ kind of sisters…”

“Not sure they’d approve of that language either, Sweetie,” Root’s grin is still wicked, but she acquiesces, tucking her hands in the pockets of the habit instead.

Down the hall the arrive at an unassuming door, the only indication they’d reach their destination is the word “Principal” on the front.

Shaw raps soundly on the door, and a gruff “Come in!” echoes from inside.

“Here we go,” Root breaths, plastering her sweetest smile on her face before opening and letting them in.

Inside, a short, stocky, elderly nun sits behind a wooden desk. Papers are arranged in neat, orderly piles, and the only thing hanging on the walls is a large crucifix. The woman barely looked up from the paper she was grading before returning to it. “May I help you?”

“Yes, we were told to report here? I’m Sister Mary Katherine,” Root smiles sweetly, extending her hand.

The older nun ignores the hand and instead looks up, appraising the woman it belongs to. “You’re late,” she mutters, before putting her work aside. Root retracts her hand and shoots a look to Shaw, quirking an eyebrow in question. Shaw blinks back, and moves to sit in the chairs across from their guest. Root follows suit.

Finally, the nun looks up again, and addresses them. “It was very _unexpected_ , to say the least, when we heard that two of our own were called to the mission in South America."

"It's not that uncommon is it?" Root asks, still smiling.

"It is when one of them is blind. While that doesn't impede Sister Antonia from teaching the children, it may be a slight hindrance in the jungle."

Shaw makes note to chastise Finch for overlooking that small detail.

"At any rate," the nun continues. "I appreciate you both coming on such short notice.”

“Happy to help,” Root smiles again. She only receives a glare in return from the older woman.

“Sister Mary Katherine, do you find something _funny_ about this situation?”

Root’s smile falters slightly, “No Sister, of course not.”

“Good. Because we take our work very seriously here. You’ll be working in Sister Abigail’s position in the parish office. It requires focus and attention to detail, do you feel you’ll be able to handle that?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Root responds, smile all but faded. “I’m very good with computers.”

“Hm. We’ll see.” The older nun slides her gaze to Shaw. “And Sister Agnes, you’ll be teaching Biology. Do you feel comfortable teaching that subject, Sister?”

“I’ll do my best,” Shaw says, her neutral expression meeting the nun’s.

After a short stare off, Sister Margaret smirks. “Good. I appreciate you _humility_ ,” She says, take a moment to glare at Root before turning her attention back to Shaw- expression softening as she does. “I take our students' education very seriously as well, and I’m glad to see you taking it as such.”

She picks up the receiver on the desk phone and dials a number quickly. “The new arrivals are here. Would you come down and show them to their quarters. Yes _now_. I want them settled before Vespers. Thank you,” she hangs up.

No more than 30 seconds later, the door opens and a slender, youthful nun- appearing slightly out of breath- enters.

Mother superior stands, and Root and Shaw quickly follow suit. “This is Sister Nora. She’ll be showing you to your quarters. She has a copy of our daily schedule. She’ll take you to your work assignments tomorrow as well.”

“When will we be able to meet Father Benjamin?” Root asks.

The mother superior levels a scathing look at Root, a look that the hacker thinks only could be rivaled by Shaw. “Father Benjamin is a very busy man. I make it a point not to bother him or make him take time out of his important schedule for every trivial matter that call for his attention.” She huffs. “That being said, _you_ will most likely see him tomorrow, as he does have some work to do in the Parish office. Now, if there aren’t any more questions- that will be all.” And with that, she sat back down, returning her attention to her work. Root and Shaw turned to their rather anxious looking tour guide, following the younger woman out of the room and closing the door behind them.

Root sighs, as they follow Sister Nora down the hall. “Well that was… intense. Is she always like that?” Root asks their guide.

The younger nun blushes slightly, the rose in her cheeks a stark contrast to the dark brown locks framing her face under her veil. “Sister Margaret Elizabeth has many very important responsibilities. She can be a bit… stern at times, but she means well.” The three of them exit the school building and walk across a small courtyard with a fountain. They enter the building on the other side.

“Your living quarters are just down this hall. We moved things around so that you both could be in room across the hall from one another. I know how hard it can be in a new place and I thought you’d want to be near a friendly face.” She smiles brightly, and Root finds herself smiling back genuinely, as well.

“Thanks,” Root adds as they reach their destination.

“No problem!” The nun adds. “Here are the schedules. I’ll be back before evening prayers and I’ll show you were everything is. So excited to have you both here!” She chirps, simultaneously reaching out an arm and giving a squeeze to Root and Shaw’s shoulders. She grins again, and heads back down the hallway they came in.

Shaw turns and enters her room, Root following behind.

Taking in the scene, Root chuckles. “This looks like your apartment." Shaw nods in agreement.

The 10’x10’ room is sparsely furnished. On the left side, a twin bed sits against the wall under the small, high window. Next to it is a modest dresser, and across from that a desk, chair and lamp.

Shaw places her suitcase on the bed, as Root examines the dresser drawers. “All that’s missing is the guns,” she smirks, turning around to stand on the opposite side of the bed as Shaw.

Shaw's eyes flash, the corner of her mouth quirking up a bit as she opens the suitcase. Underneath some books and an extra habit is a collection of various firearms, a flash grenade, a rope, night vision goggles and other tools that normally had no place being in a convent. “I came prepared. Did you bring anything?”

Root grins, withdrawing her hand from the pocket of the habit to reveal her Taser. “Never leave home without it.”

Shaw nods in approval. “Looks like we won’t have a chance at the number until tomorrow. We’ll just have to follow the program until then.”

“Well, we have another 30 minutes until these evening prayers… What do you say _Agnes_ ,” Root starts, leaning over the bed at Shaw, lips curling into a conspiratorial smile. “Wanna snoop around with me?”

 

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???------>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choice time! Should Shaw:
> 
> A.) Agree to the invitation and join Root in snooping around.
> 
> B.) Decline, and stick around the dorm area.
> 
> C.) Decline, and snoop around on her own.
> 
> _Seemingly_ innocuous choices, but each has their own consequences attached. 
> 
> So, you have 2 days to vote for this one (I need an end date so I can tally up and write it!). Vote either in the comments here, or on my Tumblr. As always, any suggestions, feedback- anything really!- is welcome. Hope you like it so far!
> 
> (Also, small disclaimer: I’m trying to do right by the religious setting but since I am not a nun I’m sure there are things that are way out of whack accuracy wise. This is the best I could do piecing together things from Catholic cannon law, Wikipedia, personal experience, and cultural references. Hope it's not too off.) :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a bit for the update! I went back and forth whether to split this chapter in two, and then couldn't figure out where to end it, etc. :) 
> 
> Anyway, let me first say how cool and exciting it is that people are having fun and participating in this! (Seriously, way cool). Second- this last set of choices was apparently too easy, as choice A.)- Snooping around together- won by a landslide. I should have guessed it would be a no brainer that the only choice better than Root or Shaw would be Root AND Shaw. Expect increasingly more difficult and/or bizarre decisions as this moves forward! 
> 
> And now back to our regularly scheduled fic, already in progress…

*_*_*_*_*

“Well, we have another 30 minutes until these evening prayers… What do you say _Agnes_ ,” Root starts, leaning over the bed at Shaw, lips curling into a conspiratorial smile. “Wanna snoop around with me?”

“No.” Shaw deadpans. She pauses just long enough to enjoy the way Root’s smile falls before adding, “But someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself in trouble.”

Root’s eyes shine bright in the dimly lit room, as she leans in a bit closer to Shaw. “And here I thought _trouble_ was what you liked best about me…”

Shaw doesn’t flinch, despite the close proximity, but there’s a familiar pluck of something in her gut; a slight pull that always seems to draw her in to Root. It’s a dance they’ve been playing for a while, and Shaw knows how the next part goes. “Let’s just focus on the mission, shall we?” Shaw says flatly, before moving towards the door.

Root lets out a small sigh before catching up with her as Shaw makes her way down the hall.

They move in silence through the corridors, each looking much like the last. Most appear to be the same dormitory style rooms like the ones they came from, and Shaw wishes she’d bothered to ask Finch exactly how many nuns lived here. Which makes her think of something else.

“How exactly are we going to contact Finch?” She asks, keeping her voice low to avoid echoes.

Root reaches into her pocket, removing the paper the young nun had given them earlier. She examines it. “It seems our schedule allows for ‘free time, study, or Apostolate’ from 7 to 8:30 each night. There’s a payphone a block down, I’ll just call from there.”

Shaw snatches the paper from Root’s hands, having not taken the opportunity to look it over earlier herself. “6:30-7:30am Morning Meditation, 7:30-7:45am Morning Prayer, 7:45-8:30 Mass…and then we go straight to work? They’ve got to be kidding...” Shaw scoffs before angrily shoving the paper back into Root’s hand.

“You know, perhaps 2 hours each morning of calming meditation might be just the thing for you Sweetie,” Root grins.

Shaw huffs lightly. “Silence I can do. Going without food until lunch though? Not so much…” She lets her words trail off as they slow to a stop. Ahead is a set of double doors, and from beyond them, Shaw hears murmurs of conversation. She looks to Root, who’s also picked up on it, and they both move silently to the far wall, behind where the doors would swing if opened, and try and listen in.

Both women recognize the first voice instantly, as that of Mother Superior Sister Margaret Elizabeth. Root feels a slight flair up of her frustration from earlier at the sound of the woman’s voice, but when the male voice chimes in her curiosity takes over instead. She nudges Shaw towards the door, to encourage the eavesdropping. Shaw shoots her a silent glare before scooching over slightly and opening the door a small margin, until she can see the two persons of interest.

Across from Margaret stands a priest, she’s assuming Fr. Benjamin. If so, she’s surprised- other than the collar and black clothing, he doesn’t fit your average description of a priest. In fact, with his dark, well-trimmed beard and stylish framed glasses, he looks much more like someone you’d see in the financial district. Or in a tech company.

“I’m still confused where these concerns are stemming from,” the priest responds. “Or what they are _about_ even, but I assure you Sister, I have things at the Parish well in hand.”

“I think you know _exactly_ where my concerns are stemming from, and once again I implore you to let me help you with them.”

“Sister, I promise if a matter comes up that concerns you and the other sisters, you will be the first to know.”

He moves to leave but Margaret Elizabeth’s arm shoots out- with surprising speed and strength for someone who looks so old- and grabs him. Keeps him from leaving.

She leans in, her next words almost too low for Shaw to gauge. “Since I was assigned here 20 years ago, this has always been a space for learning. For healing. I have worked hard to keep it that way, and I will not take it lightly if anything threatens our way of life.” Her look is hard, determined, and Shaw smirks a bit in appreciation of such a bold move.

The priest is decidedly less appreciative, and is not gentle about breaking the older woman’s grasp. “I think we’re finished here, Sister. And I think you’d do well to mind your place.” He turns and quickly heads towards the doors. Shaw barely has time to jump back- pressing herself- and Root- back into the wall as the doors swing open, almost hitting her in the face.

Shaw stills her breath, and is rewarded when the priest doesn’t look back before he rounds the corner at the end of the hall. She lets her breath out slowly and is almost surprised to feel a warm exhale of breath on her own neck, at the same time.

“If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was ask, Sameen,” Root’s lips brush the shell of her ear, and goose bumps come unbidden. She ignores the way her skin prickles and moves slightly to the side, checking the door to see if Sister Margaret Elizabeth was still there. Seeing the coast was clear, Shaw feels free to shove herself off Root as roughly as she possibly can.

This does nothing but make the hacker smile harder. Of course.

“We should follow him. See where he goes,” Shaw says, looking to Root, and the predatory look the taller woman is giving her causes that familiar pluck in her stomach again. She lets it go though, and ignores the resonation. She instead opts for rolling her eyes, and turning to head down the hallway in hopes of picking up the trail of the retreating priest.

She feels, more than notices Root beside her after a few steps, and both are about to round the corner when they almost run smack into another small, brown clad woman.

“Oh! Sisters!” Sister Nora exclaims, holding a hand to her sternum to quell the surprise. After a moment she regains her composure, and her brow furrows. “What are you both doing all the way over here?”

Shaw stares back, assessing the younger nun. “We were, uh-“

“-Looking for the bathrooms,” Root interrupts, smiling lightly. “Sorry about that…” She pauses, realizing something. “And what are you doing here?”

The younger nun smiles slightly, “Looking for you both, of course. When I saw your rooms were empty, I figured you’d gone off to explore on your own.” Root appraises her shrewdly, but Nora does not seem fazed. “So, would you both like a proper tour after Vespers? I wouldn’t want either of your getting lost again,”

“That would be lovely,” Root smiles again, and Shaw resists rolling her eyes at the dizzying level of insincerity there.

“Wonderful,” Nora chimes. “Now, let’s get a move on- we don’t want to be late for evening prayer!”

She turns, leaving Root and Shaw with no other alternatives than to follow.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw scoops food from the serving bowl and shovels it directly into her mouth- bypassing her plate entirely. 

Evening prayers had dragged, sure, but it was Sister Nora's "tour" after that had really put Shaw over the edge. The perpetually perky nun had set a snail’s pace around the grounds and seemed to glow with pride as she rattled off inane facts about every dull building, stone pathway or blade of grass they'd passed. The verbal treaties on the stained glass adorning the outer windows of the chapel had Shaw seriously considering reaching for the survival knife she had tucked in her shoe. 

By the time they'd arrived at the dining hall, the food was almost gone and Shaw mood had plummeted from her baseline annoyed to downright murderous.

She ripped into the dinner roll- almost swallowing it whole- with what may have been an off-putting level of animalism, if the reaction of the dower nun next to her was any gauge.

"Sister Agnes?"

As she shovels in more of a beige substance that may or may not be potatoes au gratin, she vaguely registers the male voice from somewhere far down the table to her right. 

After a moment, she feels Root's shoe tap her shin under the table. Her head snaps up, cheeks filled to chipmunk-like capacity, as she realizes dully that the priest was in fact, addressing  _her_. 

Turning her attention to the speaker in question, she sees 30 sets of eyes on her. 

Father Benjamin looks slightly perturbed but continues on. "As the newest member of our small community, I just wanted to offer you the opportunity... Do you want to say our closing prayer?" 

 Shaw swallows roughly, eyes darting quickly to Root- who looks positively gleeful at this turn of events, and is clearly not offering any sort of assistance- and back to the priest. He, and the entirety of the room, wait patiently for her answer.  

“You know… Shaw's mind whirs. "I think that Sister Mary Katherine may want that honor actually and-“

“Oh no. I couldn’t.” Root says, sweet as apple pie. “Please, Sister Agnes, you’re such a wonderful public speaker. I _insist_ you say the concluding prayer…”

Shaw glares at Root and briefly outlines in her head, the number of agonizing ways she could kill her- flaying Root an inch at a time comes to mind- before finally turning to the awaiting crowd.

“Well...I’ve found…” she bides her time, just for an extra moment- until finally the solution comes to her. “-I’ve found that sometimes there are not words worthy enough to describe how we feel… so, instead, let us have a moment of silence, to bow our heads and let our hearts do the speaking for us.”

She pauses, waits to see if they buy it, and much to her chagrin, they do. Everyone bows their heads, closing their eyes, in silent prayer.

Well, everyone except Root, who winks at Shaw first- and gives her a smirk implying things that probably have NO business being thought inside convent- before bowing her head as well.

After a moment, Shaw adds, “Uh, Amen?” to which a chorus of “Amen” is canted back at her, as the religious raise heads and eyes once more.

“That was truly wonderful Sister Agnes. Thank you,” Fr. Benjamin adds brightly. “What a wonderful example of humbleness! I think we can all use a reminder of humility once and again…” Shaw notes his eyes dart towards Mother Superior, for just a moment before he continues on. “After all, I believe it was James that said, ‘Humble thy self before the lord and He will lift you up.’ I can tell that you will fit in well here, Sister Agnes. As for the rest, that concludes our meal, I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”

Nuns get up, and the benches scrape on the floor. Shaw tucks one more dinner roll into her pocket before they head back towards their rooms.

Shaw waits until they're far enough away from the others before growling lowly, "What was that ' _oh I insist- you do the evening prayer_ ' bullshit?"

Root mock gasps "Sister! What awful language. Here I thought we were supposed to follow in your example. Isn’t that what Fr. Ben was talking about?"

“Getting jealous?” Shaw smirks. “I mean, that was _quite_ the dressing down you got from the Mother Superior this morning.”

Shaw means it as a joke, but when she turns she catches something on Root face before it’s replaced by her normal smile. “Not jealous- just impressed with your con. Who knew you’d make such a convincing nun?”

Shaw nods, and they walk the rest of the way in silence, before finally stopping in front of their own room.

“So,” Shaw begins. “Are you still planning on-“

“Slipping out to talk to the big man in charge?” She says mischievously. “Don’t worry Shaw. I’ll tell Harold you said hello. I’ll… send him your blessings.”

“Good.” Shaw says, and then pauses, and isn’t sure why. She doesn’t have anything else to say, but she feels rooted to the spot. Root quirks an eyebrow, expectantly. Waiting.

Finally, after a long moment Shaw blinks. “Well, Goodnight,” she says, turning to her door.

She hears a quiet, “ See you later, Sameen.” As the door closes behind her.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

The bed is quite comfortable, and Shaw has no problem falling asleep almost instantly.

What she does have a problem with though, is waking up to the creaking of her door opening, at 3am. She has her knife at the intruder’s throat almost instantly. When she recognizes that intruder as Root, she presses a bit harder. “What the hell are you doing in here Root?”

“Can’t a couple of gal pals spend some quality time together?” Root swallows thickly and the movement causes it to rub against the blade, nicking herself slightly.

Shaw watches, almost mesmerized, as a crimson droplet escapes, and follows it’s trail down the length of Root’s neck. She’s aware Root’s watching her intently, but it’s not until the droplet reaches its end- absorbed by the collar of the dark colored robes- that the trance is broken. Shaw steps back, relinquishing her hold on Root, and searches the room for something else to look at. “What are you doing here?” She growls again.

Root smiles, casually strolling around the small room. “I’m here to stakeout our number," she pauses, leering at Shaw. "Unless, you have something else you’d rather spend our evening doing?”

Shaw glances down at the knife in her hand, and wipes the spot of blood off with her thumb. “No. And our number isn’t here, so why are you really here?”

Root walks over, and steps up to stand on Shaw’s bed. She looks out through the high window above it. “During our little tour, I made note of where the rectory is. It just so happens that your window is the only one with a direct line of sight to the front of the building. From here, we can keep tabs to see if our friend Fr. Benny has any nocturnal activities of interest…” She grins. “I know it’s probably not as interesting as our last sleepover in the CIA safe house, but I think we can make due.”

“Whatever.” Shaw says, before grabbing her pillow and blanket from under Root’s feet and throwing them on the floor. “You take first watch.” Shaw settles on the floor, without looking at Root, and tries not to think of the way Root’s eyes only shinned brighter under the pressure of her blade.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT??? ---------->

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to choose! For the _beginning_ of the next section should we start by:
> 
> A.) Following Shaw to her job teaching at the school.
> 
> B.) Following Root to her job working in the Parish Office.
> 
> C.) Checking in with Finch and see what he, Reese, and Fusco have been up to.
> 
> Sorry this chapter was a bit slow- there was a lot of boring ground work to lay before things _really_ get interesting. Choices are a bit more varied too and all three have their merits (Yes, even C), so think on it and dont' forget to vote! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Votes have been tallied and the winner is… B! So, we'll be following Root to her post at the Parish office first.
> 
> Don't despair though! It was quite close and I'm kind of a sucker, so yeah, I wrote B... and also A, and C. (But the majority is B).
> 
> So yeah, I hope everyone is cool with a slightly longer chapter (I have to move the plot along sometimes after all). Choices are going to get increasingly weirder/more interesting too, so stay tuned.
> 
> Now on with the show!

 

 

*_*_*_*_*

The first thing Shaw sees when she opens her eyes is Root, sitting on the bed, staring down at her.

“Creepy much?” Shaw mutters, from her makeshift bed on the floor. As Shaw sits up, her body complains a bit, but she’s no worse for the wear. She glances up at the bedside clock. It reads 5am. “ _Shit_ , Root, what are you still doing here? You’re going to-“

She’s interrupted by a knock on the door. “Sister Agnes?” An unfamiliar voice calls, from beyond the door. “May I come in?”

Shaw’s eyes shoot to Root’s who registers the slightest bit of panic. Shaw scans the room again quickly, though she already knows there’s only one place Root can hide.

She stands and gathers up the pillow and blanket from the floor. She shoves Root down on the mattress- ignoring the giddy grin forming on the hacker’s face- and covers her with the blanket. Shaw manages to sit on top of the rumbled mass just as the nun enters the room.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” the blonde nun says. “I’m Sister Meghan. I teach English over at the school and I just wanted to introduce myself before the day began. I thought we could walk over together later, after Mass, if you like.”

Beneath her, Root shifts slightly, and Shaw is 99% sure Root is now actually palming her ass. She shifts her weight a bit and detects a slight hiss of pain from under the blankets, as she purposefully bears down on what she hopes is Root’s spleen. Shaw manages a smile and a brusque, “Uh, that’d be great,” to the nun waiting.

While still looking at her skeptically, the response seems to satisfy the older woman. “Wonderful. I’ll see you then,” the nun smiles before stepping back out of the room. The door has barely clicked close before Shaw leaps up, ripping the covers away to reveal a grinning Root.

“You feel tense Sam,” Root coos. “Sleeping on that hard floor must have gotten the better of you. Is there anything I can help you work out?”

“The only thing I want from you is for you to get the hell out of my room,” Shaw grumbles, rubbing her temples in frustration.

“You don’t need  _anything_  from me? Well that’s too bad. I stole this from the convenience store last night, when I was out calling Harry.” Root produces an energy bar from her pocket, and Shaw can feel her stomach come alive at the mere sight of it. “Such a shame to let it go to waste,” Root smirks.

Shaw pauses, eyeing it greedily and weighting her options, before finally stepping forward and snatching it from Root’s hand. She rips it open with her teeth, and bites off half of it in one go.

Root smiles, watching the savage scene for a moment, before standing and moving towards the door. She knows better than to expect a verbalized thank you- the poorly masked relief on Shaw’s face is enough. Still, she pauses at the door an extra moment to savor before adding, “I figured you’d need your strength. We have a lot to do today it seems. See you later Sameen.” Root hears the crumpled wrapper drop to the floor, as she closes the door behind.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

_This might be hell_ , Root muses.  _How ironic._

The first thing she encounters upon entering the Parish office this morning, is her new co-worker Sister Francis growling, “You’re late!”

Root checks the clock- it was 9:03.

Never easily deterred though, she swallows her pride and smiles. “I apologize sister,” she says. Root notices that the nun’s desk has a computer (and old one mind you) and suddenly things are looking up. She strides over, meeting the nun at her desk. “It won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” the ancient nun replied, before pushing back from the desk and standing.

Root smiles slightly- she couldn’t help it!- because the nun in front of her was so, so tiny. She probably barely hit 4’11” on a good day, and next to Root she seemed even smaller.

“Something funny?” the nun asks, glaring up through coke bottle bifocals, a sour look on her pruney face.

Root’s smile runs at that, and she wonders if that question is a nun thing. “No Sister.”

“Good,” the older woman replies. “Now, follow me.” The nun leans heavily on her cane as she brings Root through the other rooms.

Root was delighted to learn earlier that the “parish office” was actually just the converted living room of the Rectory where Fr. Benjamin lived. As Sister Francis lead her through the kitchen and around, she made note of little things, gathering whatever intel she could to give her some clue as to who their number actually was.

There wasn't much to observe, he seemed rather tidy- very tidy actually- until they reached the Library room.

The “Library” in question is a converted dining room of the small house, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The table is stacked high with books as well, some collecting dust, others appearing freshly moved, and all of which look like they’ve seen better days.

“Here’s where you’ll be working,” Sister Francis says, with a slight smirk. “We’ll start you off just organizing and putting away Father’s books.”

“Okay, seems simple enough,” Root shrugs. She steps closer, plucking a book off the shelf at random to take a look.

“Father Benjamin is very  _particular_ ,” She says sternly, grabbing the book from Root’s hands, and returning it to the shelf. “He likes his books organized by the date they were first published.”

“Are you serious? That’s… impossibly inefficient.” Root asks, slightly incredulous.

“You’ll find Sister, that I am always serious. And I don’t see what is wrong with that system if it is the one Father prefers.”

“Well, for one thing, what if the book doesn’t have the date its first published listed?” Root crosses her arms, looking down at the woman.

Sister Francis glares back, and holds eye contact as she removes a book from the shelf, and opens the cover to the first page. “I don’t know what they’re teaching in school’s these days, but the publishing date is always here.” She points to the page before roughly shoving to book into Root’s hands for emphasis.

Root takes the book and places it back on the shelf, less than gently. She quickly scans the table for the book she noticed a few moments earlier, grabs it, and holds it out for the smaller woman to see. “Well, what about  _this_  one? Got an exact date on that?” she says, all humor long since retreated from her voice.

The nun glances at the bible in Root's hand and huffs, long past pleasantries as well. “If you are incapable of doing this job, you need only let me know. Are you  _incapable_  to doing this job, Sister?” The nun’s smile is anything but, as she holds Root’s eyes. Root’s lip curls up in a snarl as she barely represses her urge to hurl the book in her hand across the room. After a moment, staring down (literally) the nun in front of her, she manages to grind out, “No.”

“Good,” the nun smiles, victorious, before brushing past Root to the door.

“Wait,” Root turns. “Is Father Benjamin going to be in today? I was hoping to speak with him briefly.”

The nun turns back to address Root, replying with a simply, “Patience is a virtue Sister. I suggest you exercise it,” before exiting the door way.

Root manages to wait a full minute after her departure before slamming the book in her hand, onto the table. A plume of dust billows up from where the bible lands, and Root coughs a few times before finally resigning to her work.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw wasn’t sure what to expect when Sister Meghan dropped her at her new classroom. Before they'd parted, the blonde nun had reminded the Shaw at least 3 times that she’d be ‘just down the hall’ if Shaw were to need anything- leading the ex operative to wonder what it was she would need so much help for.

So, naturally, when she did open the door and took in the scene, it was not at all what she expected.

As Shaw entered the unassuming classroom she’s met with the sight of 30 or so middle schoolers, quietly reading or chatting amongst themselves.Shaw’s brow furrows, thinking of her own time in middle school, and finds the scene to be… far too ordered and quiet.

“Uh, hello,” She begins, and is again shocked to find the students responsive, ending conversations, closing books, and turning forward attentively.

“Riiiight…”Shaw mumbles apprehensively. A flash of a memory passes through her mind, of her own 5th grade math teacher, quitting in the middle of a class, running from the room because she was unable to calm the rowdy students. A stark contrast to the scene before her.

She can handle hit squads and chaos. This though... this actually makes her feel slightly uneasy.

She shakes it off and moves on. “So,” she begins again. “I’m Sister Agnes and-“

“Good Morning Sister Agnes!” the chorus of students ring back at her.

“Yeah,” Shaw deadpans. “Anyway, this is…” she looks at her schedule. “Advanced biology.” She looks up at her eagerly awaiting class. “So, what are you guys studying right now?”

Dark haired girl, with skin like mahogany, in the front of the class raises her hand, eagerly. Shaw points, “Okay, yeah you.”

The girl lowers her hand. “I’m Rebecca. We’re studying anatomy. Sister Antonia was on the chapter about lungs. We we’re working on making our own models of the repertory system.” The girl gestures to the tables near the windows where boxes with Styrofoam ribcages and balloon lungs sit like abstract art waiting to come to life.

“Oh, that’s… cool.” Shaw begins, unsure what to do with this information.. “Soooo, do you guys wanna just go... do that?”

Rebecca quirks an eyebrow in a way that reminds Shaw a bit too much of someone else she knows. “Are you sure you’re a teacher?”

“Of course I am,” Shaw says quickly. “I just, uh, wanted to know what you all have been doing so I can make the transition… you know… easier.”

The girl smiles softly, almost pityingly before answering. “She usually reviews the previous chapter, then we take turns reading the next one out loud. She, you know,  _teaches about the stuff_  as we go along, and then if we have time left at the end we can work on our projects.”

Shaw nods. “Okay. Right. Let’s do that then.” She walks behind the desk and sits down in the creaky office chair behind it. She opens the textbook on her desk. “So let’s open up to page…” she flips through, trying to find the right one. She looks up, and catches Rebecca’s eye. The small girl mouths the words ‘one oh seven’ and smiles. “One hundred and Seven.” Shaw says, gratefully. “So… who’d like to read first?”

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

John stumbles less than gracefully into the library, his weight resting heavily on the arm slung around Lionel’s shoulder.

Harold stands up in alarm at the sight of them, taking in both men’s battle-worn appearances, and the actively bleeding wound on John’s calf.

“Oh my- Mr. Reese do you need assistance?”

Lionel helps John shuffle the last few steps to the bench near Harold’s computer, before depositing the taller man with a relieved  _Ooof_.

“I’m fine Harold,” John says, shifting the weight off the injured leg. “Though this might need stitches. Is Shaw around?” Bear notices John's arrival and pads over, tongue lolling, and places his head in John’s lap.

“No, I’m afraid Ms. Shaw and Ms. Groves are assigned on a separate number and won’t be available in the near future,” Harold mumbles, paling slightly at the sight of all the blood, yet unable to avert his gaze. “I take it your number, the loan shark, proved more complicated than we’d originally thought?”

“Ya got that right,” Lionel huffs. “We barely got past the guys chain link fence before the two hyenas he’s trying to pass for dogs took a bite outta  _Tall, Dark and Trigger-Happy_  here,” He thumbs in the direction of John.

Harold’s eyes widen in horror. “You didn’t…  _shoot them_ , did you?”

“Of course not. I love dogs,” John says, already in the middle of petting Bear’s head.

“Yeah, and looks like they love you too.  A bit too much- You got any leg left under those pants?” Lionel asks.

John rolls up the shredded pant leg , inspecting the still-weeping wound. “Yeah, that’s gonna need stitches. Lionel, can you grab Shaw’s first aid kit? I think she keeps it near the stairs.”

“Sure thing,” the detective says, before heading down the hall to find it.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Harold asks, still looking a bit queasy at the sight of the blood.

“Not unless you have some morphine hidden somewhere,” John grimaces slightly.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Is she kidding with this thing?” Lionel says, as he returns with the kit. “All Shory's got in here is a suture kit and a half a bottle of bourbon…”

John takes the offered kit, and opens it to see for himself. “Guess she’s running low on supplies,” he smirks, before uncapping the bottle, taking a swig, and then pouring some on the offending wound. “Usually, she has a full bottle.”

Lionel rolls his eyes, “You people are insane, you know that?” He turns and makes his way towards the exit, throwing a, “Call me if you have anything a little less crazy, huh?” over his shoulder before he disappears.

John shrugs at Harold before gathering the suture materials and attending to his leg. “I hope Root and Shaw are having better luck with their number, “ he says, pulling the thread through for the first stitch.

Harold, finally reaching his limit for the sight of blood and unpleasantness, turns away before answering. “Yes, I hope so as well…”

John looks up at that. “You mean you haven’t heard from them?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his voice.

“Given their cover, communication is somewhat limited. Ms. Groves did contact me briefly last night, but didn’t have much pertinent information to update me with.”

“That’s a bit unusual isn’t it? What's their cover? Do they need back up?” John asks.

“I’m sure they’re fine Mr. Reese. I’d rather have you focus on Mr. Montoya, as he’s proving to be challenging enough on his own,” Harold says, referring to John’s current number. “What were you able to find out about him?”

“Well, he seems like a very typical, small-time, loan shark from all appearances,” John begins, eyes on his self-surgery. “Lives alone, works long hours. He runs his whole operation himself. You could say he’s also a very private person,” John smiles. “He’s only been at it a few years, but he’s gotten successful enough to make some enemies.”

“I dare say so, considering the protection he’s employing,” Harold eyes John’s leg once more before meeting the man’s eyes again. “Anyone jumping out, in particular?”

John shakes his head. “We were hoping to get his client list from his office. I didn’t anticipate the dogs though.” John ties off the last of the stitches. “I better get back,” he says, petting Bear once more before standing and making his way towards the exit.

“Do you really think you should be walking on that so soon?” Harold asks.

“Well, someone’s got to keep close to our number,” the taller man shrugs. “And besides, I need to change my pants. This isn’t exactly inconspicuous…” He rounds the corner and down the stairs leaving Harold to search for something to clean the bloodied floor with.

 

 *_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw’s day was going fairly well after her rocky start. After that first class, Rebecca had lingered a bit. 

“Watch out for the your 8th grade, 6th period class,” she'd said on the way out the door. “And you have crumbs on your habit.”

Shaw was left awkwardly brushing off her robes and both thankful and resentful for the girl’s help.

The other classes went smoother but lunch was a disaster. She'd been hoping for a bit of a break- some alone time but the nuns that work at the school, apparently  _stay_  at the school for lunch and eat together. As soon as Shaw sat down, Sister Meghan and Sister Nora (who taught American History apparently) sat down on either side, bookending her.

They then proceeded to ask her about a million personal questions.

_Where are you from? Have you been a teacher long? Did you study biology? Do you like New York?  Have you worked in a big city before? When did you first get your Call to service?  Did you work at a school at your last placement? Do you always eat so fast?_

Shaw stuck to one-word answers as best she could but neither nun seemed deterred. Finally, she gives in, realizing that she wasn’t going to escape their orbit of forced socialization any time soon. She decides to instead attempt to see what information she can get from  _them_ , if she’s going to be stuck here.

“So, tell me about Father Benjamin,” Shaw starts, finishing the last of her meal.

“What about him,” Nora asks, nibbling her cheese sandwich.

“You know, what’s he like? What does he do in his down time? Does he spend much time off campus?...”

Sister Meghan chuckles. “Feels a bit like 20 questions sister. Did you get to know the priest at your last parish so well?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. He was, um… very… open. Very integrated.”

“Oh that must be nice,” Nora replies, wistfully.

“Father Benjamin is a fairly private man,” Meghan adds. "Not that that's bad- priest at my last parish was quite the chatterbox, which got a little old too."

“Father Benjamin is very nice though," Nora adds quickly. "And he’s done so very much for our community, in the short time he’s been here. We're really very blessed to have him”

“Really?” Shaw asks, finally feeling like she’s on to something. “Like what?”

 

 *_*_*_*_*

 

Root has been organizing books for what feels like years, before she hears Fr. Benjamin enter the building. She finishes shelving the books in hand quickly, hoping she’ll be able to go and ‘run into him’ before he disappears again, however there was no need to hurry.

By the time she moved toward the door, the priest was already standing there. “You must be Sister Mary Katherine,” he said extending his hand.

Root crossed the room, and grasped his hand as well, grateful for a bit of pleasant human contact. “Nice to meet you,” she says, shaking.

“Looks like quite the project,” he says, as he moves further into the room to inspect her work. He walks towards the bookcase, browsing. “Though... Have you moved things around?”

“Oh yes,” Root smiles, pleased that he noticed. She’d gambled a bit, hoping that if it paid off she’d build some good rapport with the number. “I actually have been cataloguing them by author and title- and I’d be willing to go full on Dewey decimal, even create a database, if you like.”

“I see,” he says, frowning slightly. “It’s just…I’m just not sure why you would do this. It was fine the way it was.”

“Well, I’ve spent a lot of time in libraries over the years and  _trust me_ \- this is the best and most efficient way…” Her smile falters a bit, and the priest looks back to the book case, continuing to frown.

_Time for a Hail Mary_ , she thinks wryly, before changing tactics. “I mean, Mother Superior told us in detail how busy you were, how many important things you had to do and how,” touches his arm lightly with a smile- only  _slightly_  flirty- “ _powerful_  you are. I just wanted to do something to help make things easier. More efficient. That’s all.”

The priest looks skeptically and critically at Root’s hand on his arm, before removing it gently. “I understand you had good intentions Sister, but there is a bigger picture to think about. I liked the way it was before, and I wish you would have asked is all.”

Root’s face falls. His disappointment is bothering Root, and she’s  _bothered_  that it’s bothering her.

“Is there uh… Is there anything else I  _can_  help with then? I'm good with computers, a very fast typist… maybe I could help Sister Francis with her work entering all the church donations? Work on some of the accounting for you?”

“Thank you for your offer, but Sister Francis has proven quite proficient over the past few years.” Root internally winces as she thinks about her earlier observation of this 'efficiency'. When she’d come in she’d noticed the ancient nun was slowly, hunt-and-peck typing. With two fingers.

The priest continues, “You know Sister… respect is freely given, but I think you could make do with a bit more practice learning our operations before changing them. Thank you, again for your offer.” And with that, he turns to go, leaving Root in the cluttered library, and in the lurch, for the second time today.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw’s 6th period class of 8th graders is out of control and she couldn’t be more relieved.

_Finally_ , she thinks.  _This is more like it_.

Going on day two at the convent, Shaw could feel herself going a bit stir crazy. The pre-teen chaos feels fresh and vital and she likes it. She likes it so much, she decides she'd rather just kick back, put her feet up on the desk, and soak it all in. So that's what she does.

Unfortunately that doesn't last long though. Only a few minutes go by before the classroom door opens and Sister Meghan sticks her head in. “Sister Agnes! Do you need help?”

Shaw takes her feet down from the desk quickly, caught like a student herself. “Uh help?”

“Getting the students under control...” Meghan explains. She yelps as a tennis ball bounces off the chalkboard just over her head, and back to its owner in the back of the room.

“Oh, um… no. I’ll handle it. Thanks Sis,” Meghan looks unsure, but doesn’t linger- the twinge of fear for her safety ushering her from the room quickly after that.

Shaw rolls her eyes and sighs. So much for having fun. She turns her attention to the chaotic students.

“Hey guys?” She tries, her words barely putting a dent in the din.

She tries again, slightly louder this time. “Can I have your attention everyone?!”

No response. A few are dancing, an iPod connected to speakers. Some are laughing, crowded around a phone. Two or three are trying to read, shooting angry glances at the others now and then, and alternatively holding their ears. Others are messing with the lab equipment and one student has actually managed to fall asleep- which Shaw finds impressive.

Despite that, she knows she has to bring order lest she get in trouble, so she does the first thing she can think of.

Taking her survival knife from her pocket she flicks it out, unsheathing it, before hurling it towards the back of the classroom.

It sticks- with a echoing THUNK- deep into the poster-covered wooden closet at the back of the room.

Everyone goes silent.

One student- previously dancing on his desk- tentatively hops down to examine. He pulls the large knife from the wall (disturbingly lodged dead center in the forehead of the portrait of Einstein) and runs a finger along it, verifying that it is, in fact real.

He looks to the front, expression a mixture of fear and awe. “What kind of nun  _are_  you?”

Shaw smiles like a Cheshire cat. “A different kind- but that’s not important. What is important,” she continues, and as she stands and moves in front of the class, students seem to recoil back a bit. “is whether you guys ready to leave this kiddy stuff behind and do some  _real_  science?”

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

It takes another hour or two but eventually Root finishes with the rest of the books, and makes her way back to the living room. There, she finds Sister Francis, still plucking away on the computer, one finger at a time, while Fr. Benjamin writes at his desk.

She clears her throat upon entering the room, though neither person looks up from their work. Root frowns slightly before trying again, “All done with organizing.”

This at least yields a response. Sister Francis doesn’t look up from her work, but does gesture toward the priest’s desk. “There’s a few more over there.”

Root nods- not that anyone is even looking her way- and heads over.

“Are you done with these, Father?” She asks, collecting the pile of books from the corner.

He looks up, briefly stating “Oh yes, thank you,” before returning to her work.

Root has had enough of being ignored though.  _Time for some answers_ , she thinks. “So Father, have you been with the parish long?”

“Oh, about 3 years now,” he says, continuing to write.

“Interesting. It must be very difficult to manage a parish I’d imagine. Have you ever had any issues, say with parishioners or anyone from the neighborhood?”

“Nothing noteworthy,” he says, with a shrug.

“So no… threats? Or altercations or anything?”

This, finally gets his attention, “Why do you ask, Sister?”

“Well I'm new to the city. New York is so often portrayed as having so much crime, so many issues, I just want to get to know the area and people a bit more,” She smiles as pleasantly as she can manage, for this.

“Thank you,” he smiles back- which feels like a victory in itself. “Things have been going well so far.”

“You’re too modest Father,” Sister Francis says from her place at her desk. Root looks to her. “Since you’ve been here you’ve managed to not only help this parish out of our financial hole- but you've even increased attendance by 10%!”

“Just doing what anyone would do,” the priest grins.

Root smiles too, because finally- FINALLY- she has  _something_  to work with. A place to start.

She doesn’t have long to gloat though because out of NOWHERE there is a scream and a loud, extremely disturbing noise erupts from the courtyard outside.

Father Benjamin is on his feet at once, and yells “Stay here!” while he runs to the door.

Root and Sister Francis take one look at each other before they leave their chairs behind and both rush for the door as well.

*_*_*_*_*

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???   ----------->

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choice time! There’s an extremely disturbing noise from the courtyard!...
> 
> A.) Someone is actively on fire, outside in the courtyard.
> 
> B.) A small bomb, filled with money, has exploded in the courtyard.
> 
> C.) An produce truck spun out of control and has crashed in the courtyard.
> 
> So, yes, mixing it up a bit. :)
> 
> Intrigued? Confused? Just itching for another opportunity the exercise your right to vote? Leave your vote, comments, or whatevers below or on Tumblr and let's see what happens next!
> 
>  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand survey says- 
> 
> -Choice A! Looks like someone is going to be actively on fire in the courtyard. Fun fun. 
> 
> Also, it's probably for best that option C wasn't selected- if only because it'll spare you all from the absolute _bushel_ of terrible fruit and vegetable puns I had waiting on deck. (Someday I'll get my opportunity to have Fusco say "How do ya like them apples" but today is not that day *sigh* )
> 
> At any rate- on with the show!

 

*_*_*_*_* 

 

Panic is something Root liked to think she’d mastered control of a long, long time ago. However, as she steps outside the rectory and into the courtyard, and she feels the crushing tendrils of fear tighten around her heart, she realizes that there are still certain things that can truly get to her.

And apparently one of those things is the sight of Sameen being _literally on fire_.

Root’s body acts without prompting and she has already sprinted half across the courtyard by the time her brain catches up with permission. She barrels through the small group of students who’ve gathered, gawking at the scene, and launches herself at Shaw- tackling the smaller woman to the ground. Root shucks her robe over her head and proceeds to savagely beat out the flames engulfing both Shaw’s arms. She’s got just about managed before she registers Shaw’s muttered obscenities. The smaller woman growls and forcefully shoves Root off, onto the ground beside her.

“ _What the hell is wrong with you, Root_ ,” Shaw hisses under her breath, trying not to be overheard by the crowd of student’s encircling them.

Root’s heart begins to slow finally but confusion starts to set in. “You were _on fire_ \- I just saved you!”

Above them, the crowd of students part and admit Father Benjamin and Sister Margaret Elizabeth to the scene.

“It was an _experiment_ ,” Shaw sighs, rolling her eyes and producing a small mason jar from her pocket. It’s filled with a clear substance that looks like petroleum jelly. “I made a Superabsorbent Polymer slurrie- basically a flame retardant gel. I thought it’d be fun…” Shaw notices Sister Margaret at that point and quickly adds, “And uh, very educational.”

“This is not even _remotely_ acceptable!” Sister Margaret yells. _“What were you thinking?”_

Shaw looks up at the nun, face blank. “I’m sorry Sister. I simply thought it would be an interesting way to demonstrate different polymers. I apologize.”

The older nun’s face is beet red, however before she could unload what was sure to be quite the tongue lashing of the century, Fr. Benjamin interrupts her. “It seems that while Sister Agnes’ actions were _obviously_ reckless, her intent was good. No one was injured so perhaps exercising a little forgiveness is in order?”

If the Mother Superior’s glare could, it would have bore holes right through him. Root thinks she can almost hear the nun grinding her teeth together and there is a full 60 second standoff between the two religious before the nun snorts a haughty huff through her nose and brakes the gaze. She instead turn on the two women on the ground, addressing Shaw first.

“Clean this up and get the students back to their classroom,” she seethes before turning to gaze to Root, “And for heaven’s sake Sister- cover up! Have you no modesty?” She heaves a disgusted sigh before turning on her heal and storms off.

Root suddenly realizes she’s been sitting on the ground wearing nothing but her nun’s veil and the thin dress slip that was under her robes. She quickly adjusts herself, hugging her arms around her chest and covering up as best she can.

“Sister Agnes,” the priest begins, eyeing Root shrewdly. “Why don’t I take your students back to their class room and you can help Sister Mary Katherine _compose_ herself?”

Root’s teeth grind at this, and she’s about to spit something regrettable, when Shaw interrupts. “Yes, I think that would be good.”

The priest nods and gathers up the students, who reluctantly follow him back inside.

Left alone, both women stand and collect themselves. Shaw grabs Root’s now burn hole-riddled robes, holding them to her.

“This is _ridiculous_ ,” Root seethes, angrily snatching the garment from Shaw’s outstretched hand and wrapping it around herself like a towel. “You set yourself on fire in front of a group of 8th graders and all they're concerned about is how I'm dressed? What is _wrong_ with these people?”

“Well, to be fair,” Shaw begins, her gaze unconsciously following the line of exposed skin from Root’s ankles up to where the robe was wrapped , around mid-thigh. “You’re the one showing a bit more skin than nuns probably should.”

Shaw smirks, but when her gaze finally meet’s Root’s eyes, she doesn’t find the mirth she expects. Instead, Root glares at her before turning and striding quickly towards the direction of the convent. Shaw jogs the few steps to catch up, falling in stride beside her. It’s a quick walk, but the heavy silence seems to drag behind them, and Shaw can’t quite figure out what’s going on with the other woman.

Root doesn’t stop when she gets the door to her quarters. Instead, she bursts inside, abandons the fire-damaged robes, and sets to work. She drags the small suitcase she brought, out from behind the dresser where she’d stored it. She tosses it on the bed roughly and begins flitting around the room, throwing her belongings inside.

“Going somewhere?” Shaw drawls, leaning on the doorframe and taking in the scene before her.

“I’m compromising our cover and the mission by being here,” Root shrugs, keeping her eyes on her work.

“If you leave, we won’t have anyone positioned over at the parish office. We’ll be missing out on any intel from over there, as well as our opportunity to keep line of sight surveillance on the number.”

“You worked for one of the most intense, covert government programs around, “ Root replies curtly. “I’m sure you can manage to sneak over at night, open a first floor window and help yourself to whatever you’ll need at the office.”

The hacker is almost finished packing and Shaw idly wonders why she brought so much stuff anyway, before realizing that she should probably stop her.

“You’re not leaving,” Shaw begins.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Root chuckles darkly, her focus set on shoving the last few odds and ends into her suitcase. “ _I’m_ the one fucking things up, remember?” She and closes the luggage, manhandling the zipper in her frustration.

“Root.”

The hacker almost startles from the proximity of it. When she turns to look, Shaw is there, almost at her elbow.

“What Sameen?” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose because she is so _done_ with it here. Done with everything and everyone she’s encountered since they first stepped foot on the campus the previous day.

“Let’s be clear on one thing: You are not leaving. You’re _not_ leaving me here, alone, with 40 nuns and a weirdo priest. They never let us eat, they made me deal with _children_ all day, and I had to _set fire to my own arms_ in order to keep from going insane.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly making friends everywhere I go, either,” Root grouses. “I spent most of today getting chewed out by a woman older than dust and a guy with some seriously misplaced beliefs about library organization.”

It’s more than this of course, and Root knows it. Something has been gnawing at her since they arrived. She pauses, chewing on her lip. “Since we got here, I can’t seem to get anything right. It’s…”

Root hesitates, searching for the word. She wants to say _upsetting_ , and instantly feels the word sour and dry up on her tongue. She silently wonders what is wrong with her, that so many things that she hasn’t felt in so long (first panic, and now this… _whatever it is_ ) have awakened since she got here.

She looks at Shaw’s face, at the stony, neutral expression reflecting back up at her, and reconciles that whatever it is she’s feeling or experiencing, Shaw is probably not interested. “…Annoying,” Root finally selects and waits to see if the other woman buys it.

Shaw looks at her, eyes narrowed and scrutinizing, and Root worries what she might say if Shaw _does_ decide to push it instead of swallowing the lie. Luckily, she doesn’t have to figure that out. Shaw rolls her eyes at Root’s response, and grumbles, “Well, get over it,” before stepping away and putting some distance between them.

Root sighs, and doesn’t bother to parse whether it’s out of relief or disappointment. She instead gathers herself, and pulls her lips into something she hopes resembles a smile, determined to change the subject and regain some footing. “Such sage advice. Do you have any suggestions then, on how I should avoid suspicion from our holier-than-thou friends here?”

“For starters, you could try not taking off all your clothes and jumping at me like some psychotic attack dog,” grumbles, like it’s obvious. Root smirks slightly in earnest at this, and Shaw is happy to see her return to something a bit more like herself.

“How could I not throw myself at you, when you looked so _hot_ …” the tall hacker says lightly.

Shaw snorts, the corner of her own mouth ticking up in amusement. “Yeah, well, try not to do it so _publicly_ at least, next time…”

Root’s eyes shine brightly at this. “So, you’re saying… that next time I want to disrobe and tackle you, you’d rather it be somewhere more private?”

Shaw rolls her eyes once more, but then Root is walking towards her- still wearing nothing but the thin slip undergarment- and as much as Shaw knows she should leave, her feet seem rooted in place.

Shaw’s not sure how this flipped so quickly- how the woman before her could go from looking positively defeated to now towering over her so confidently- but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Root is grinning down at her and _that look_ is back. Root comes to a stop just within Shaw’s comfort zone, and tilts her head to the side slightly, studying Shaw, before the grin retreats into something slightly more predatory. “You know, this seems pretty private to me, what do you think?”

The tug is there, in Shaw’s gut again, and she has to actively resist the sudden urge to _shove_ Root away.

Though, the problem isn’t the shoving- Shaw is sure that shoving Root is _exactly_ what she wants to do. The problem is that when Root gets to her like this, Shaw can’t decide between shoving Root painfully into the dresser, or not-so-painfully onto the bed, _and THAT is a problem, isn’t it?_

Shaw stares back at Root, and watches as the hacker’s eyes flick down to Shaw’s lips for a moment, before returning her gaze.

Shaw knows how easy it would be to scratch that itch, but she can’t. She won’t. And she also won’t think about why she can’t. So instead she sneers her typical, “Funny, Root,” before shoving the hacker lightly, just enough to make space between them.

Normally , Root shrugs off her refusals and they move on. This time though, she just blinks. Blinks at Shaw, as if she’s not sure what to do.

_Well that’s… new,_ Shaw thinks.

Finally, Root seems to shake off whatever haze she’s in. “Well, I live to amuse,” she sighs, before pacing to the bed and flopping down on it. “So what now?”

“Now,” Shaw starts, thankful to move on. “We follow our leads. A few of the other penguins gave me some info to follow up on. When you call Finch tonight, have him look and see if there’s any information on donations, or how it is our good friend Benny has turned around the finances here. Can you check out their computer accounting records too?”

“Like I said, it doesn’t take a specialist to crack the nonexistent security over there. I can have it by morning,” Root waves her hand dismissively, from her place on bed.

“Good,” Shaw says, though she’s still curious about Root’s odd demeanor. “I’ll keep surveillance on the priest tonight. We’ll check in, in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Root drones. Root’s still just wearing the thin slip, but now- laying slightly curled on the bed instead of towering over her- to Shaw she looks almost frail. “I’ll let you know what’s up.”

“And... you’re not leaving?” Shaw asks again, though she’s not sure why she cares.

“No Sameen,” Root shakes her head slowly, eyes closed and voice quiet. “I won’t leave you.”

There’s that tug again, deep in Shaw’s gut, though this time Root is clear across the room. “Good,” she mumbles, moving to exit the room. When the door clicks behind her she has a strange feeling she should go back. She doesn’t.  

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

The remainder of the day tics by easily enough. By the time Shaw makes it back to the school, the students have been dismissed. Shaw was pleased to dodge that bullet but wasn’t as lucky when it came to Sister Meghan from “down the hall”. The enthusiastic nun rattled off question after question to Shaw about her little “experiment”. It was by far the most painful interrogation she’d ever experienced (considering she wasn’t able to fight her way out of it). She tried excusing herself to the rest room, but the Sister simply followed her in, never breaking stride or her train of thought. Shaw was convinced that the woman would have followed her into the stall even, so when it came to dinner time- Shaw moved quickly- choosing an empty seat surrounded on all sides by other nuns.

If Sister Meghan realized she was being ditched, she didn’t let it show. She grinned and bid her “we’ll talk more later” as Shaw stuffed her cheeks full of dinner rolls once more.

After consuming everything within reach, Shaw finally lifted her eyes from her plate and scanned the room. She frowns slightly, not seeing Root anywhere. She knows Root promised not to leave, but it did little to settle her doubts. Shaw grabbed an extra dinner roll, slipping it into the pocket of her robe. Sometimes she swear that woman never ate anything at all.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Root is not in her room when Shaw returns to the convent, but her belongings are and Shaw’s satisfied that at least Root didn’t just take off. She heads back to her room across the hall, to start her stakeout of the rectory, for the evening.

An hour creeps by, then another, and the ex-operative’s mind begins to wander. Wander to Root.

Shaw wonders where she is. She’s not _worried_ , of course, just curious. She gazes out the high window- almost having to stand on her tip-toes to see through it actually- at the dark building beyond, and wonders if Root was able to head back and break into the computer. She wonders if Root was able to slip out and contact Harold. She wonders if Root opted for some unknown third option and what on earth that thing could be.

She hopes it wasn’t dangerous.

Not because she’s worried, of course. She’d just be pissed if Root was having all the fun without her.

Shaw doesn’t dwell on that long however, because something catches her eye. A man, dressed in jeans a hooded sweatshirt, exits the rectory. He stops to tie his sneakers, and the hood slips just enough to reveal his face.

It’s Father Benjamin.

Shaw smirks to herself, and ditches her nun’s habit for the jeans and tank top she’d been wearing beneath. She continues to watch, as the priest rises to his feet again, and begins walking towards the front gate- presumably to leave.

Even if she ran, it would simply take her too long to negotiate the winding hallways the convent, and get to the front gate in time. She would most assuredly lose him if she tried, . so, Shaw decides on the only logical course of action: She needs to just climb out the window.

She has opened it, hoisted herself up, and shimmied halfway out the narrow space before she hears the knocking. The door to the room below opens, and a familiar voice trills “Sister Agnes?” before coming inside.

Shaw tries to scoot down again, but she’s too late and Sister Meghan ghosts a soft “oh my” at the sight of Shaw hanging halfway out the small window.

“I’m so sorry Sister! I didn’t mean to interrupt…uh… what exactly is it you’re doing?”

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???  ------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to choose!!! Sister Meghan has caught Shaw red-handed, trying to escape through the window in her room. She wants to know what on earth it is Shaw's doing. Should Shaw:
> 
> A.) Create a truly stunning excuse.
> 
> B.) Say nothing, ignore the nun completely, and just leave.
> 
> C.) Tell the truth. 
> 
> Now it's time to vote! Do it for duty! Do it for honor! Do it for plot progression purposes! 
> 
> Also, oops, things are getting a little angsty up in this piece (it's hard to avoid with these two). While I cannot promise less angst, I _can_ promise a successful and happy ending where no one dies. :) Eventually. Yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this update too entirely too long- Sorry folks! Please accept this significantly longer-than-usual chapter as penance :) 
> 
> Speaking of which, the people have spoken! And the people have selected Option A: Have Shaw create a truly stunning excuse as to why she was climbing out the convent window in the middle of the night. 
> 
> I don't know if the one below qualifies as "truly stunning" (I have no idea why I added that as a qualifier in the first place) but regardless, I think it's a functional one. Enjoy!

 

Shaw tries to scoot down again, but she’s too late and Sister Meghan ghosts a soft “oh my” at the sight of Shaw hanging halfway out the small window. “I’m so sorry Sister Agnes! I didn’t mean to interrupt…uh… what exactly is it you’re doing?”

Shaw's brain whirs. A small part of her wants to just tell her the truth, just to see the look on the nun's face.  _Oh me? I'm sneaking out so I can follow your super shady priest friend because an Artificial Intelligence told my coworkers and I that something bad was going to happen._

A much larger part of her wants to just ignore the woman completely and leave.

But then Shaw remembers Root, she realizes that she's going to have to take her own advice, suck it up, and come up with an excuse to maintain this ridiculous cover, and do it fast. So she says the first that comes to mind. 

"Claustrophobia."

"What?" The nun says, confusion written on her face.

"Fear of confined spaces. Had it ever since I was little. The night air helps. Sometimes you just have to  _get out_ , you know?"

“I guess?” Meghan replies, though it’s clear she’s less than convinced.

With time running out though, Shaw can’t afford to wait for  _convinced_. For now, she’ll settle for  _confused-_ she can clean up that mess when she returns. So, she forces a canned smile and adds a quick, “I knew you’d understand, Sister. See you tomorrow!” as chipper as she can before wriggling the rest of the way out the window.

Once outside, Shaw hits the ground running. She makes her way to the front gate, hoping Sister Meghan hasn’t delayed her so much she’s lost her mark. As she passes the gate, it appears that luck is on her side. She catches sight of the priest just as he rounds the corner on the next block and jogs silently after him, making up the distance easily.

She follows him several blocks before pausing, watching from a nearby alley as he enters a building. The weathered sign announces the establishment, simply called “The Pub” and from the outside it seems like your average, run-of-the-mill, neighborhood drinking establishment. Shaw jogs up to the door and slips inside.

The inside of the building is slightly more seedy than the outside, but still nothing particularly noteworthy. The interior design seems to rest heavily on a combination of buzzing neon signs and Guinness posters.

Shaw spots the priest towards the back of the bar, just settling into a booth across from a scowling, shorter man in a dark blue sweatshirt. She moves stealthily, sliding into the booth situated behind the priest, and silently curses the absences of her phone. She really wishes she could BlueJack the mystery guest.

“Good evening, Albert. How's it going? Business good?” Shaw hears Father Benjamin say.

“I’m really not in the mood for pleasantries,  _Father_ ,” the man (Albert apparently) growls back, the later word oozing with sarcasm. “So let’s cut the crap.”

Shaw hears ice clink in a glass, the priest sipping his drink, before clearing his throat and answering. “Fine, fine. What is it you wanted to talk about?” The priest’s nonchalance is surprising and intriguing, and Shaw tilts her head slightly, straining to hear better over the light din of the pub.

“You know damn well what I want. I want my money.”

“You’ll have your money by the end of the month.”

“That’s not going to cut it. I want it by the end of the  _week_ ,” and Shaw can practically hear the man’s scowl.

“That’s not what our agreement was,” Father Benjamin states and finally Shaw thinks she detects some concern in the priest’s voice.

There’s a  _BANG_ \- a fist slamming on the table, likely Albert’s. Shaw readies herself, muscles tensed, prepared to jump in at a moment’s notice.

“Well I think it’s time to renegotiate,” the man continues. “I’m tired of these games. I want to be done with this for good. No more excuses- we had a deal, Padre.”

“Okay, Okay, I hear you. I’ll see what I can do,” the priest says, pausing slightly before continuing. “You are aware that the money is going to good use right? It’s for the Parish.  _Our_  Parish. It helps us serve the poor, the homeless… not to mention our  _school children_ ,” the priest emphasizes the last phrase- stating it slowly and carefully. “Keeping that in mind, I thought you might find it in you to have a little more understanding…”

“ _Pffft_ \- Understanding?” the other man scoffs. “Where’s  _your_  understanding _?”_

“We all make decisions,” the priest says quietly. “And we all must live with the consequences.”

“Yeah, well, some of us have a bit less choice in the matter, don’t we?” Albert sighs, before shifting and standing. “You have until the end of the week. I’m serious about this, Father. I’ve done my part. I want this done.”

“Of course,” the priest says calmly, and there’s another clink of ice in a glass, another calm sip taken.

“Fine. I’ll contact you then,” the man says, before striding towards the exit.

Shaw moves quickly. She spots a side door, and exits through it and into the alley beside the bar. She hustles to the corner nearest the street and makes it around front just as the man referred to as Albert, exits the building. He comes down the street towards Shaw, looking at his feet, slightly sullenly. It makes it even easier for Shaw as she “accidentally” checks his shoulder - getting a good look at him and stealthily stealing his phone from his pocket, unnoticed.

“Hey!” Albert says, spinning back towards her.

“Sorry,” Shaw shrugs.

Albert shakes his head, muttering something lowly before turning back to continue on his way.Shaw doubles back to the alley, removing the phone and dialing quickly.

_“Hello?”_

“Finch, it’s me,” she says, leaning against the brick wall.

_“Ms. Shaw? How are you calling from this number? Where-?“_

“-I’ll explain later. Listen, I tailed the priest to a shady bar. He met a guy there, referred to him as Albert. I lifted the guys phone- can you see what information you can get off of it?”

_“Well actually Ms. Shaw I-“_

The rest of Harold’s words are lost as Shaw feels a presence behind her. She turns and slams the figure against the wall, pinning him with her free arm.

“Nice to see you too,” John chuckles from under her hold.

Shaw glares, releasing him roughly. “What the hell are you doing here?” She hisses.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he replies, straightening his suit jacket a bit.

 _“I believe we have an interesting situation here,”_  Harold chimes into the phone at Shaw’s ear- and apparently in Reese’s com as well, judging by the taller man’s nod.  _“Mr. Reese has been following his number today, who planning on meeting up with an important client. That’s our number’s phone that you’re calling from.”_

“Oh yeah?” Shaw says into the phone, but staring at John. “And what exactly does your guy do?”

“Loan shark,” John says, simply

Shaw chuckles. “Well, that explains how my guy raised all that money so quickly at least...”

“Hey Shaw,” Reese gets her attention. ““Looks like I’m not the only one tailing you,” John indicates over her shoulder. Shaw turns in time to see a flash of dark brown fabric disappear around the corner across the street, headed in the direction she originally came.

“ _Shit_ ,” Shaw curses, slamming her palm angrily against the brick wall she was leaning on.

“Was that a  _nun_?” John asks, brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” Shaw grumbles. “And now I’m going to have to clean this shit up…”

_“Ms. Shaw- it is imperative you do what you can not to blow your cover. We need people on the inside in order to monitor the situation.”_

“Wait…” John starts, the slight smirk forming on his lips. “You and Root are posing as  _nuns_?”

Shaw rolls her eyes, ignoring the question, and instead slams the stolen phone into John’s chest for him to deal with. “Just tell Harold to keep us updated. I’ll buy a burner phone and text you when I have something.” She stalks off in the direction of the convent, leaving John and his stupid smirk behind her.

By the time Shaw bought the burner phone and made it back to the convent, it was almost 3am. She considers, for a moment, popping in and updating Root with all the new intel, but sleep tugs at her harder this time. She opts for undressing quickly and flopping in her bed instead. She’s barely there more than a moment before sleep overtakes her entirely.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Root sits on the roof of the rectory, and begins digging through her duffle bag. The night is cloudy and darkness blankets her; the only illumination comes from the small flashlight she holds between her teeth.

Root removes the coils of wire and the miscellaneous electronic equipment and breathes deeply for the first time in days because  _this_  is what she is good at.

Being  _bad_.

She chuckles at the thought, the child-like simplicity of the phrasing. Up until recently, it had been a long time since she’s thought about the world, or the people in it, in terms of “good” or “bad”. Not since Elementary school, really- that’s when she stopped caring what other people thought of her.

Growing up though, she had been constantly reminded of what it meant to be “bad” verses being “good”. Early on, she’d tried the latter but it seemed that despite her efforts everything always ended either with an adult admonishing her or a teacher calling home. She got used to the title of “bad”, and when her mother’s issues worsened, and the delusions took on an increasingly religious tinge to them, “bad” became “evil” or even “possessed”. She got used to that too.

The words never really affected her- not in the sense of making her sad or upset at least- but they left her with a distaste for those who used them. After all, who were they to say what was right or wrong?

After she discovered computers and gained command over them and the knowledge they held, she saw for herself that those people admonishing her had skeleton’s all their own. The more she dug through people’s private lives and pasts, the more it became clear that  _everyone,_ in fact, was deeply flawed. Every  _human_  was flawed, because they were created without design. At the end of the day, humans were just  _“bad code_ ” (and she knew what to do with bad code). From then on, the only way she measured people’s worth was by how she could best use them to her advantage.

That is, until The Machine. Until Harold.

Root shakes her head, and sighs at the thought. Still under cover of darkness, she hooks up the last of the wires on the roof before descending the ladder propped up on the building’s side. Once at the bottom, she pries open a window, climbing inside and letting herself into the same library she’d spent all day working in. She removes more wires from her bag, continuing her work, as her train of thought slowly slips to  _cages_.

The first cage she was imprisoned in was in the psychiatric ward. Harold may have put her there but it was The Machine had insisted she stay. Insisted, so that for the first time in decades, she might reconsider her thoughts about humanity. So that she might reconsider if humans really could be worth something more than just “bad code” she saw them as.

She and The Machine had argued and while they did not come to an agreement on the value of human life, Root had at least acquiesced to changing her methodology. From that point forward it was ‘No More Killing’ (when she can help it, of course) and she’s stuck to it. Changing her behavior has always been easy- she’d been running cons since she was a child, after all. 

Now, she is helping people, fighting  _the good fight,_ shoulder to shoulder with the rest of Team Machine. She thinks about the rest of them and how despite their flaws, it is still so clear that they are “good”. Even Shaw, who readily describes herself as a ‘sociopath without feelings’, still works to do “the right thing” by people.

And now so does Root. They even have her singing along with their Creed:  _Each life matters._

Root presses her lips together, a thin line forming, as she thinks about those words. She thinks about how it feels (or doesn’t) when she says them; much like the prayers and psalms she’s been giving lip service to over the past few days for this cover. She thinks about what it means to be  _“_ good” and wonders how much actions count towards that when the feeling behind them is still markedly absent.

She wonders if you say something enough, will you eventually mean it? 

There’s a creaking noise from the floor above where the priest resides, and Root quickly wraps up what she’s working on before throwing the rest of the cords in her bag. She’ll finish setting up the WiFi network  _(Who doesn’t have WiFi now anyway???)_  and accompanying wireless video surveillance equipment tomorrow. It will be more difficult, having to sneak around Fr. Benjamin in broad daylight to do so, though.

For a moment Root thinks about how much easier it would be if she was able to just to interrogate him. How much simpler, and more straightforward, if she was allowed to pry his secrets from his mind one by one…

She dismisses the thought. That’s not her any more. Or rather, that’s not what she  _does_  any more. As she slips out the window, and back into the darkness, Root wonders if they’ll ever be a time she won’t have to make that distinction.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw feels like she’s barely closed her eyes before she’s awoken again by a knock on her door. One eye hesitantly peeks at the clock which confirms the worst: 5:00 am. Another knock echoes through the small room, punctuating that it is, in fact, time to wake up. “Come in,” she says, her voice still scratchy from sleep.

“ ‘Morning Sweetie,” Root coos as she enters the room- her fully awake and chipper demeanor only serves to worsen Shaw’s own bad mood.

“If you can call this morning,” Shaw bites, before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She leans her elbows on her knees and rests her face in hands, palms grinding into her eye sockets as if friction alone could get the sleep out.

Root is patient. She leans against the wall across from Shaw, silently waiting. She knows the ex-operative well enough by now to know that while Shaw routinely rises before the sun, the woman is most definitely not a morning person. Root knows she’ll have the most success if she waits a few moments for Shaw to fully wake up.

Also, she's not about to waste and opportunity to enjoy a less-than-conservatively dressed Shaw.

As it is, Root takes her time raking her eyes over Shaw’s body, clad only in tank top and sleep shorts. Shaw stands, and begins silently collecting the robes and other garments she’ll need. Root’s hungry gaze- and general voyeurism- aren’t new to Shaw and as far as the ex-operative is concerned as long as Root keeps her mouth shut then who cares?

Shaw grabs a gun from her hidden stash, strapping it to her thigh before throwing the habit over her head. She finishes by grabbing the newly purchased burner phone and shoving it in the robe’s pocket. Finally pulled together, Shaw meets Root’s eyes. The taller woman smiles back, inquiring, “Ready to get to work?”

Shaw ignores the question, pressing on to business. “I have some updates.”

Root smiles, “Oh?”

“I caught the priest sneaking out last night.” Root quirks her eyebrow- almost in approval- and Shaw continues. “He met up with a loan shark, at a bar and talked money. The priest owes and the shark gave him a deadline of Friday. Oh- and the shark turns out to be Reese’s number, so I ran into him lurking around last night too.”

“Sounds like an eventful evening,” Root says, almost wistfully, uncrossing her arms and tucking them into the pockets of the brown robe instead.

Shaw shrugs. “Any updates on your end?”

Root mirrors the shrug. “Last night I installed WiFi and wireless surveillance in the rectory. I’ll finish the last parts today, but in a few hours Harold should be able to remotely monitor our priest friend’s every move. Work smarter, not harder right?” She adds with a wink.

Shaw’s eyebrow inches up ever so slightly, which Root decides to interpret as approval, before shifting back to her baseline disgruntled. “I’m more concerned with working  _faster_. This place sucks and I'm really sick of these robes,” Shaw grumbles, scratching roughly at her arms through the dark brown material.

“Don’t worry Sweetie. I’ll be able to hack and forward the financial records on their computer by the end of the day as well. I’ll slip back in during lunch for that one…  _Feel free to join me for a quickie_. ”

“I’ll pass,” Shaw says, rolling her eyes before adding, “It will be good to see exactly how much trouble this guy is in.” She glances towards the clock on the dresser. “It’s getting late. We better go. Don’t want to raise any more suspicion, than we already have.”

“ _We?”_  Root asks, a slow and devilish smile curling on her face. “Sameen, have you been up to something naughty- something you’re not telling me?”

Shaw thinks of the brown habit disappearing around the corner last night. Of the very real, very serious, potential compromise to her cover… and makes the decision that she can handle that on her own. “Nope,” she says lightly.

Root’s brow furrows, as she appraises Shaw skeptically, but then relaxes again. “Well, let’s get going then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation,” She smirks, and follows an already retreating Shaw out the door.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

“Sister Agnes! Wait for us!”

Shaw would prefer to ignore the excited shouts from Sister Nora, but since she’s the only one in the hallway it might look a bit suspicious. She stops and turns, waiting as Nora and Meghan catch up.

“I thought we were all going to walk over the school together again,” Nora says, her eyes shining as brightly as each sparkling tooth in her broad smile. Shaw, working on less sleep than she’d prefer, resists to knock the offensively chipper woman out cold.

“Oh. Sorry.” Shaw shrugs, before turning and setting a brisk pace towards the school. The two nuns fall in beside her.

“I also wanted to see if you’re okay,” the young nun adds, and this catches Shaw’s attention. She thinks of the nun who followed her, and her eyes dart to Meghan, scrutinizing her before addressing her. “I see Meg here has been in a sharing mood. Told you what she saw last night, has she?”

Meghan’s eyes go wide, and she shakes her head, imperceivably small to Shaw before Sister Nora chimes in. “What are you talking about?”

Shaw glances at Nora, “What are  _you_  talking about?”

“The fire incident, of course! That was so scary! I almost fainted!” Nora presses her hand to her sternum, settling herself before a confused look passes over her face. “Wait, what are you talking about then?”

“Oh, uh…nothing. Just something clumsy, embarrassing really, that Meghan happened to see. Guess I can be a bit of a klutz,” She gives her best imitation of a sheepish grin.

“Oh… okay…” Nora nods, though still looking a bit skeptical. Approaching the door to the school, the three women hear the morning class bell ring. “Oh- that time already! I’ll see you guys for lunch then!” And with that, Nora skips-  _skips_!- off to her classroom.

Shaw turns her attention back to Sister Meghan, who winks at her. “Don’t worry about Nora, you’re secret’s safe with me!”

“Secret?” Shaw glances around, evaluating her options. 

“The, you know,” Meghan leans in close, whispering conspiratorially, “C _laustrophobia_.” She leans back again. “No need to be embarrassed, but I understand wanting it to remain private. You only just got here, after all.” The second class bell rings. “Looks like that’s our cue- see you for lunch!”

Shaw is left standing in the hallway, as the last few students scramble to class, and has never been less excited for lunch in her life. 

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Spiking Sister Francis' tea with a mild diarrheic may not have been the only way to get the older nun out of the room, but Root would be the first to admit it was a very satisfying one. She needed the woman away from the computer long enough to copy the hard drive, and this certainly accomplished that objective. Plus, picking this particular mode of diversion meant the nun could come back from the bathroom (3rd trip so far, Root estimates) at any time- interjecting the  _slightest_  hint of excitement for Root, at the prospect of being caught.

Another part of her, a part she's eager to ignore, is just satisfied causing a little discomfort.

 _Well,_ Root think.  _At least I didn’t shoot her_.

Root extracts the USB from the parish’s office computer with plenty of time and is slightly disappointed at how easy the whole process was. She hears the bathroom door close down the hall and slips back to the library, avoiding detection. She’d finished installing the wireless network and video surveillance earlier, which also turned out to be far easier than she’d prefer.  

Root sighs, and plops down in the creaky office chair next to the book case. She leans her head back, and draws one leg so her foot is resting on the seat. With the other, she slowly spins herself around, watching the deep wood beams of the coffered ceiling above her swirl, until vertigo threatens to tip her over.

She closes her eyes and leans back further. She’s bored, and frankly she almost hopes that they don’t get to the bottom of the current number’s issues at hand in time. She doesn’t want him to die or anything, but a little excitement- some gun fire, maybe a some tasing, would certainly be welcome at this point.

A smile creeps over her face, the thought of tasing and gun fire automatically dragging her thoughts to Shaw. If Root is bored, she can’t imagine how bored Shaw is. She glances at the clock-  _11:50am._  Shaw will be breaking for lunch soon. Root thinks she should probably check on her. Make sure the Little Firecracker isn’t getting herself into any more trouble.

She hears a loud curse from the adjacent room, and listens to the accompanying sounds of the nun hobbling hastily towards the bathroom once more. 

Root leaves a bottle of Gatorade on the nun's desk before heading to lunch. People, especially older people, can die of dehydration and if she's going to kill someone this is not the way she'd rather do it.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw wonders which circle of Hell teaching is, and if Dante himself ever considered it. Not that she's been really invested in teaching. After being assaulted with unwanted conversation earlier, she's spent the bulk of her morning classes focusing more on her exit strategy to avoid a repeat performance at lunch, than teaching anatomy of respiratory system.

Speed and surprise were her main calculated advantages. If she could exit fast enough, she could avoid detection by the other nuns altogether. Also, despite the innocent act, Shaw still suspects that Sister Meghan was the one to follow her the previous night and she's not about to underestimate the woman again. At exactly 12:00pm on the dot the lunch bell rings and Shaw is out the door, making a break for the courtyard.

She’s half way down when Sister Nora pokes her head out of her classroom, spotting Shaw and cutting off her exit.

“Oh! Sister Agnes! There you are!” The nun grins- yelling down the hall loud enough the whole school could probably hear her.

Shaw feigns deaf though, and quickly turns on her heal, and cuts around the next corner, out of sight. On the wall across from her is a small map, outlining the decrepit building’s rooms and the suggested emergency fire escape route.

Options limited, and calls of ‘ _Sister Agnes?’_  growing steadily closer, Shaw curses under her breath and picks a room from the map. She hopes the new location will serve to hide her long enough until classes start up again.

With no time to waste, she slams through the doors to the stairwell, headed to her new hiding spot, and hopes she’s chosen wisely.

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?????? ----------->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to choose!!! 
> 
> Shaw has to hide in the school (to avoid unwanted and unnecessary chit-chat). She chooses to hide:
> 
> A) Janitorial/Gym supply room
> 
> B) The Basement
> 
> C) The Roof
> 
> The choices _seem_ benign I know, but there is action afoot! Shady priests! Menacing loan sharks! Slightly aloof Root! Socially awkward Shaw! And more! So go ahead and vote, vote, vote! (And this time I promise faster turn around for the next chapter!) :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like people have selected Option C: The Roof. Therefore, to the roof we go! 
> 
> (And as always, I am blown away by the kudos, comments, and general awesome reader participation for this funny little story. Thanks!)

Behind her, the door to the stairwell shut with an anticlimactic *click* as she began ascending the stairs towards the roof.

Even before she learned the strategical advantages to it, Shaw had always liked high places. She found she could think so much better with the height a few building stories or- more often- a half a tree between her and what was bothering her. From up high, she could see the whole picture, gained perspective. From up there she was out of reach from all the concerned looks and judging eyes; from all the _expectations_ that she just couldn’t meet. From up there the world below seemed small, and muted and much less intrusive.

As Shaw reaches the top of the stairwell, before exiting onto the roof, she absently wonders how long it’s been since she’s actually climbed a tree. Once she steps outside though, standing in the fresh air with just the sky above her, she realizes that the years haven’t changed _this_ at least. The people and their expectations are still muted below her, and the air is still as silent, calm, and clear as she needs. Shaw takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, soaking it in.

“Sister Agnes?”

Shaw’s eyes shoot open and her head whips to her right, towards the voice. Her body relaxes again quickly though, once when she catches sight of the small student sitting cross-legged, text book in her lap.

“Rebecca,” Shaw sighs, recognizing the girl as the 6th grader who helped her out that first day. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

“Pretty sure you aren’t either,” the girl points the highlighter in her hand towards Shaw, smirking.

Student and ex-operative stare at each other, both waiting for the other to break- to justify their presence on the roof. After a moment, it’s clear neither is about to do so though, which Shaw acknowledges with a brief nod before walking towards the other side of the roof.

She leans on the ledge, feeling the sun-warmed brick under her forearms and taking in the skyline before her. It’s a beautiful day and with the fresh air and the sun on her face, she’s feeling better than she has in a while.

“So what _are_ you doing up here?”

Shaw almost flinches, the voice surprising in its proximity. Rebecca is right at her elbow and Shaw didn’t even hear the girl approach. Impressive.

“Just getting some air. And some _quiet_.” Shaw emphasizes the last word, hoping the student will get the point and leave her alone.

Instead though, Shaw receives a raised eyebrow and small, all-too-knowing smile, and for the second time in as many days the girl reminds her a bit too much of a certain former-killer-for-hire. “Did you eat lunch?” the girl asks.

“No,” Shaw’s jaw tightens around the word, as she realizes this.

“I’m not too hungry. You can have half of mine if you like.” Rebecca holds up a plastic bag containing what looks like a rather skimpy baloney and cheese sandwich.

Shaw nods lightly, not about to let her ego get in the way of something to eat. She takes half the sandwich from the offered plastic bag, and doesn’t hesitate to devour it. The girl watches, intently. “What?” Shaw asks, mouth half full.

Rebecca shrugs and smiles lightly, and begins walking across the roof back to her previous spot. Shaw watches as she settles back down, placing the book back in her lap and returns to her reading.

Shaw finishes her sandwich and turns back towards the cityscape on the horizon. She had felt different- _been different_ \- all her life, which meant that she had spent a good portion of her life alone. Being alone never bothered her- a fact that only seemed to underscore the difference between her and her peers. Though she never really related to why, Shaw did understand that most people don’t _choose_ to be alone. Not without good reason.

Maybe it’s that knowledge that propels her but, whatever the reasoning, Shaw finds herself suddenly crossing the rooftop back over to Rebecca, and sitting down beside her. It’s another young girl’s voice in her mind, arguing to Shaw that she _is_ in fact made for 'this stuff', that finally prods the ex-operative to break the silence. “So…What are you reading?”

Rebecca holds up the thick book for Shaw to see. It’s a worn and slightly dated looking copy of Gray’s Anatomy.

“Bit advanced for a 6th grader isn’t it?"

This time, Rebecca does turn to meet Shaw’s gaze. “I want to medical school and I’m going to need a scholarship to do it. Figured I’d start studying now.”

“You want to be a doctor?”

“Forensic Pathologist.”

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah,” and the eyebrow quirks again, this time in challenge. “Something wrong with that?”

Shaw shakes her head. “No. It’s just kind of a strange choice. What do your parents think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rebecca shrugs once again, her gaze returning to the book. “My mom died when I was 2 and I’ve never met my dad.” She pauses before adding. “I live with my grandma.”

“Well, what does _she_ say about it then?”

“She just tells me that I just need to _‘be the best me I can be’_ or whatever,” The girl says rolling her eyes, before refocusing on the book in her lap. “Anyway,” she adds with a flip of the hand, “I don’t care what other people think. People are stupid and I’m not going let other people decide who I’m going to be.”

“And who you want to be is a Forensic Pathologist?” Shaw levels. “You do know that all your patients will be _dead_ , right?”

The girl looks at Shaw with a glare that could have rivaled one of her own. “ _Yes_ , but I can still help them. Dead people don’t get lawyers or social workers to help them or their families figure out what happened or to try and make things right. But _I_ could. I could help get answers, or even just bring some peace of mind. So don’t think it’s a weird thing to want to do at all.”

Shaw appraises the girl and, again, is impressed. “Yeah, I guess not,” she trails before adding “Well, I better get back. Stay out of trouble…” Sameen stands and moves towards the stairwell door.

“You too,” Rebecca says, glancing up briefly to grin at Shaw, before returning her gaze to her book.

As Shaw descends the stairs, she wonders when it was exactly that children became so… insightful. And independent. She likes Rebecca’s spunk, but she also knows the girl has a hard life ahead if she’s going to continue to buck expectations.

Shaw learned from a young age that doing what _she_ wanted rarely lined up with others’ expectations of her. Acting on her own desires and impulses had consequences, whether it be a visit to the principal’s office or a long winded lecture from her parents. As her mother often chided, _‘there’s a time for a scalpel and a time for a hammer’_ and over time, Sameen began to begrudgingly admit that being herself ( _a hammer_ ) was causing her more trouble than it was worth.

So she quickly learned to say _‘thank you’_ even though she’d rather say _‘fuck off’_ and she learned that people respond more favorably to requests (and to her face in general) if she manufactured a smile upon it. In medical school (another one of her mother’s expectations of her) she was able to fool most people but in the end she was able to meet all their expectations except one: Empathy.

By then, Shaw was tired of pretending. She couldn’t change herself (and didn’t want to) so, instead, she changed the expectations of her. The Marines and the ISA lauded the lack of empathy instead of questioning it. It was perfect… until they tried to kill her. She found herself washed ashore on Harold’s island of misfit assassins, where her job requirements suddenly included things like team work and caring again.

She’s always been honest with them though. They’ve always known who she is ( _what_ she is) and she’d informed them of it purposely. She doesn’t want them expecting something from her that she can’t give. Which has worked fine so far...

Except when it came to Root.

The delicate dance of push and pull between the two of them right now works well, and Shaw would rather not change that. Well, to be more precise, she doesn’t want to do anything to mess it up. She doesn’t know the full extent of what Root wants from her, but if the hacker is like the other 99.9% of the world, Shaw probably can’t provide it.

Shaw opens the stairwell door, and exits into the hallway, leaving thoughts of Root behind. She moves towards the biology classroom, but doesn’t take more a step or two before a siren goes off. She makes a move towards her gun, but then notices the flashing lights from small red boxes on the wall.

The fire alarm is going off.

 _Perfect_.

The cafeteria doors down the hall open and a wave of openly disgruntled students and mildly disgruntled nuns rushes towards her. Shaw stands aside, letting the tide flow past her, and hoping it doesn’t wash up any talkative nuns.

Shaw’s never that lucky though.

All around her the shrill siren of the fire alarm wails, causing students to cover their ears as they make their way towards the exit. Despite the commotion, Shaw still spots them. Sister Margaret Elizabeth and Sister Nora, who seem to be having a rather intense disagreement about something, are amongst the crowd and headed her way. By the time the two nuns reach Shaw’s spot, the Mother Superior looks as though she may actually strangle they younger nun, but she catches Shaw’s eye and turns attention that way instead.

“Ah, Sister Agnes, just who I needed,” Margaret Elizabeth yells, trying to be heard over the din. “Would you mind checking out the area back behind the school? There’s some mention that one or two students may be back there, and we need to make sure they get to evacuation area so we can complete our headcount.”

“Sure, no problem. This _is_ a drill, right?”

“Since you are here- and currently not ablaze- most likely.” The older nun smile is smarmy, and Shaw sets her jaw hard as the older woman continues. “We didn’t have a drill scheduled, but it’s not unusual for them to run one unannounced. The district likes to keep up on our toes. I’ll see you out front in a bit,” and with that, she grabs Nora’s bicep roughly and tugs her back into the current of students heading towards the doors.

Shaw sighs, and heads the opposite way, towards the back of the building. A few straggling students flow past her, but most have already made it outside. Rounding the corner, she finds the next hallway deserted, the flashing lights creating odd shadows over the school’s aging linoleum.

“Fancy meeting you here…”

Shaw whirls around, following the voice as Root steps out of the shadows near the vending machines.

“Root…” Shaw growls the warning, a headache starting to pulse to the rhythm of the flashing lights.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. If you’re angry, feel free to slap my knuckles with a ruler…” The hacker purrs, stepping entirely too close to Shaw for comfort.

Shaw glares up at her, “Oh you can be sure that if I’m going to hit you, I’ll use something with a bit more bite, than a rule." She rolls her eyes before turning on her heel and continuing on her route.

Root falls into step beside her after a few paces. “What has your rosary beads in a bunch?”

“You BFF Margaret Elizabeth wants me to check out back for any straggling students and get them to the designated evac spot. She needs to make sure the headcount- _SHIT_.” Shaw stops, closing her eyes in frustration at the sudden realization. The student count is going to be off for sure, because there is definitely going to be one student missing: _Rebecca_. Shaw curses to herself again and mumbles, “I have to run up to the roof for a sec.”

“Not taking the idea of 'flying nun' too seriously I hope..." Root grins. When it's clear Shaw isn't going to elaborate further than a glare, Root continues. "I can check out back for you, if you like.”

Shaw scrutinizes the taller woman, looking for the catch in the offer, but is mildly surprised to find little more than sincerity there. Still dubious, but without further options, Shaw shakes her head. “Okay. Good.”

“Anything for you, _Sameen_ ,” Root grins, and _there_ is something extra Shaw had been expecting. The ex-operative silently wonders how it is Root can make her name sound like both a threat and a prayer. Root adds a little wink, before continuing on towards the back of the building, leaving Shaw to turn around once more, to find Rebecca.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

As much as she would rather be spending her lunch coaxing annoyed eye rolls and irritated sighs from Shaw, Root is satisfied with the simple fact that she is not spending it in the rectory. She is curious what errand Shaw has suddenly to run on the roof of the building though, and she makes a mental note to follow up on that one after.

Root lets her mind stroll through the possibilities, including the highly likely and highly amusing one that Shaw was simply trying to ditch her. She smiles at that- if nothing else, Shaw is difficult.

But Root likes a challenge.

She exits through the rear doors of the building, which open to a small, covered patio type area that abuts the alley behind the building. The set up reminds her slightly of a loading dock, and she wonders if maybe the school might have been a warehouse in its early days.

As she walks out further into the space, letting the door close behind her, a man steps around the corner. He’s tall, mid-40’s by her estimation, and the sick, knowing smirk that curls his lips is worrisome at best.

“Hello Sister,” he begins and his accent is an unusual one. Eastern European? “We’ve been expecting you.” Root barely processes this before three sets of hands grasp her from behind- a set on each arm and another holding her shoulders in place.

“Well,” Root says, through gritted teeth, struggling against the much larger men bracketing her. “That makes one of us. Mind telling me what this is all about?”

The leader, the one who addressed her first, stands before her, stone faced. “We heard a nun had been snooping where she shouldn’t be. I wanna know what it is you know.”

“Well, this will be quick then- I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Root says airily, still struggling.

The man smirks. “We’ll see about that,” he states, before taking a small spray bottle- almost like a perfume bottle- from his pocket and begins moving towards her.

Root struggles harder. She slams her head back and is rewarded when she feels her skull connect with something, causing a sickening crunch and a howl of pain. The hands on her shoulders release as the man in question tends to his (likely) broken nose. She tries kicking at the men holding her, to no avail, and looks up just in time as the leader sprays the contents of the bottle directly into her face.

It catches her off guard and part of her knows that her small, involuntary gasp unfortunately only served to make _sure_ that the substance was truly inhaled. She thinks she detects something like cherries, or lavender but she can’t be sure...

...In fact, she’s suddenly not sure of anything at the moment. Except that she’s feeling good.

Really, _really_ , good.

Somewhere in her mind it registers that her legs have given out- that she’s only still upright because the gorillas holding her are keeping her so- but wherever that notion surfaced, it is buried too far beneath the delightful haze of euphoria for her to care.

The leader’s smarmy smirk grows, making him look cartoonish, and causing an unbidden giggle from the hacker. “I assure you,” he continues, he accent curling around each word, “There is nothing funny about this. So I say again, tell me what you know.”

“I think you’re going to need to back off.”

Root’s head perks up at new voice, recognizing the surely tones even through the fog in her head. “Heeeeeeeey, Sweetie,” she sing-songs.

“I think you’re going to let her go now,” Shaw growls, stepping out from behind the large thugs to face the interrogator.

“Oh really?” the man sneers, back. “Says who? You Sister?”

A delighted peel of laughter erupts from Root when the first punch connects with the leader’s head. The strong hands encircling her arms disapear moments later as well, her captors falling like dead wood around her. She sways, her own legs buckling. She begins to drop, but at the last moment two small hands scoop under her armpits, catching her and lowering her to ground slowly instead.

Root has a comment about _falling for Shaw_ , somewhere tucked in her mind, but everything is swirling and delightfully fuzzy so all she manages is another giggle and a prolonged “Mmmmmmm.”

Shaw sets her down, and comes around, crouching until they're eye-level. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Root’s head is swimming, making it hard for her to hold eye contact with the smaller woman for very long. “I’m eeeeeeeeeeeexcellent, actually,” but pauses, and then stares at Shaw with a sudden look of confusion. “Wait- are you _concerned_ Sam? Can you even _be_ concerned?”

Shaw’s brows furrow deeper at this, picking up on the slight slur to the words. She takes one hand and grasps Root’s chin roughly, holing it in place, examining Root’s eyes.

“You’re always so _serious_ ,” Root’s mouth grins behind Shaw’s hand, as her own reaches out and sloppily traces Shaw’s brows. Shaw bats the hand away lightly, having already assessed Root’s saucer sized pupils, and concluded she was drugged. She grips Root’s face a bit harder, jostling her slightly. “ _Focus_. Do you know what they injected you with?”

Root smirks again, and childishly licks the hand holding her face, causing Shaw to relinquish her hold with a growl, and wipe said hand furiously on her robe. Root laughs at Shaw’s disgusted face before shrugging, “Didn’t _inject_ anything. Which is- which is-“ she gropes for the word, “-which is _funny_ , right? Because- because _IIIIIIIIII_ usually do the injecting.” She thumps her chest, proudly at the statement.

Shaw rolls her eyes and stands, opting to to search the area for clues rather than continuing her pointless questioning. She moves to the leader, digging through the man's clothing carefully. She pocket's his wallet before moving on and searching the ground for a syringe or blister packet or a tab or _something_ to tell her what they gave Root. She notices the small spray bottle, and moves towards it.

Root, who’s been watching as intently as she can handle, manages a quick “THAT ONE!” stalling Shaw’s hand before it reaches the bottle. The hacker follows with, “They sprayed me in the face with that!” and grins, proud of her contribution. Her face falls again quickly though,, nose scrunching as she adds, “Which is _totally_ rude.”

Shaw leaves the bottle where it is, and digs into the pocket of her robe and retrieves the wallet once more, re-reading the identification. “Shit,” she mumbles- mostly to herself as Root has now regressed to simply laying on the pavement and appears to be… making snow angels?

“What?” The hacker inquiries from her imaginary snow bank.

 _And yet, she’s still intrusive_ , Shaw thinks. “This idiot’s last name is Sprysak. I think he’s left over Polish Mob, which means they probably sprayed you with Diethyl Ether, because they’re Friggin’ _Neanderthals_ and still use that shit.”

As Shaw starts to calculate the half-life of the antiquated anesthetic's effects, another voice grabs her attention. “Lord in heaven what’s happened here!?!?!”

Shaw turns and sees Mother Superior Mary Elizabeth standing at the doorway to the school. “Oh! Sister! Thank goodness you’re here!” Shaw begins, putting on her largest doe eyes. “I came outside, and found it like this. Looks like some sort of drug thing gone bad. We should probably call the police!”

“Yes, yes, right away and-“ she pauses at the door. “Wait, what is Mary Katherine doing here?”

“Oh uh…” Shaw searches. “I saw her in the hallway after our meeting. She offered to check out here so I could go and… secure the science lab. You know, make sure nothing flammable was open. _Just in case_.” Shaw adds a solemn nod for authenticity.

“She _offered_ to come out here…” The nun says slowly, eyes narrowing upon Root (who, while still splayed out, has at least stopped her snow angel movements.

“Yes... but I think we should focus on the _police_ aspect now. Sister here may have fainted and I think I should get her back to her room to rest.”

“Why are you talking like that?” Root sniggers absently, her loose gaze landing on Shaw.

“ _Clearly_ she’s a bit out of it.” Shaw adds, covering. “But we should definitely focus on calling the police.”

“Yes… right…” the older nun replies, still focusing on Root until she seems to shake herself away from the sight. “I’ll call right away.” She returns inside leaving Shaw, Root, and a pile of Polish mobsters out on the loading deck.

Shaw turns her attention back to Root, who’s staring at her with intense concentration. “Let’s get you out of here before you say something you might regret,” Shaw says as she helps her up, draping on of the hacker’s long arms over her shoulder for support.

“I don’t regret things,” Root says airily as they start to walk back towards the convent.

“Well, then before you say … I don’t know, something stupid to blow our cover,” Shaw sighs.

Root’s not listening though, already moved on to staring at Shaw. “You look silly,” she chuckles. “Do you fly? Like Sally Field!?!?”

Shaw simply rolls her eyes, and continues to move them forward.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw all but throws Root down on the bed when they return to Root’s convent quarters. Despite her willowy appearance, Root was still 5’8” of practically dead weight and Shaw wasn’t about to schlep her one meter further than necessary. Not while she was completely high and loopy at any rate.

The weird comments, noises, and what sounded like purring, Root was making in her ear the whole way back to the room wasn’t particularly preferable either.

“I’m going to call Finch. Stay put and try not to break anything.” Shaw says over her shoulder, as she steps out of the room, leaving Root where she fell. She closes the battered door behind her, leans her back against it, and fishes the burner phone out of her pocket.

 _Polish mobsters, a crooked priest and a loan shark_ , Shaw thinks, shaking her head. _My life is starting to sound like the beginning of a bad joke_. As she dials the familiar number she hears a very loud, very distinct _THUMP_ from the room behind her.

“Root?” she casts back through the door, but her inquiry is cut short when a voice picks up on the phone line.

“Hello?” asks the voice, but it’s not Finch. “Hello?” In fact, it’s a very _not-Finch_ voice.

“Who the hell is this?”

 

_WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!?!?! ------ >_

 

*_*_*_*_*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHOICE TIME!!!
> 
> Which very _Not-Finch_ is on the other end of that phone call?
> 
> A.) Lionel Fusco
> 
> B.) Albert Montoya (the loan shark)
> 
> C.) Leon Tao
> 
> Who could it be? Why isn't it Finch? Where the hell did the Polish mobsters come from? And when are Root and Shaw going get their shit together and get together already?!?! :-) 
> 
> Answers to all these questions and more are on their way! Don't forget to vote for your choice! (either here or on Tumblr: SpicyCheeser).
> 
> Oh, and as an actual Author's Note: I am not a chemist and freely admit that. So, beyond what was Google-able, I admit that I don't know enough about diethyl ether to know if it can _actually_ be used in that format mentioned above. Please forgive the artistic license taken with that- I was struck by the idea and decided to run with it. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, by an OVERWHELMING MAJORITY VOTE- it seems that Leon Tao will be answering Finch's phone. I miss Leon too and I seriously hope we get to see him once more in the season(s) to come because he's hilarious and awesome. I hope I did him justice. Enjoy!

“Hello?” asks the voice, but it’s not Finch. “Hello?” In fact, it’s a very  _not-Finch_  voice. “Who the hell is this?”

 “Who the hell is  _this_?” Shaw bites back into the receiver. “Because last time I checked, this was the number for a friend of mine, and you’re not him.”

 Shaw hears a curse at the other end of the line, followed by mumbling that sounded a lot like,  _“Of course it’d be the scary one.”_  There’s a sigh as well, before the voice starts up again.

“Listen, it wasn’t my idea okay?  _He_  asked  _me_  to look over the church’s financial records in the first place- I just thought I was just meeting him for lunch to go over what I found. We weren’t here more than  _5 minutes_  before he’s up out of his seat and moving towards the bar to meet this guy. He was all ‘ _It looks as though you are my back up for this afternoon Mr. Tao,’_  or whatever. I told him I don’t do guns, or back up, or any of the shit, but he just shoves his phone at me and told me to answer it if it rang.”

 “ _Leon_ …” Shaw grinds, pinching the bridge of her nose to quell the frustration as she identifies the caller’s voice finally. “What the hell does Finch need back up for? What is he doing?”

 “Well,” Leon says, looking across the crowded bar from his booth at the back. “Right now, he’s having a beer with your loan shark guy.”

 “I don’t have time for this…” she mumbles- mostly to herself- before speaking to Leon once more. “Look just… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Call me back at this number if he does.  _No_ \- better yet- call Fusco. Or Reese. Or the Hamburgler for all I care…”

 “Nuh-uh! No way! You are  _not_  sticking me with this. I happen to have a  _very attractive_  date meeting me later and I am  _not_  giving up a solid a solid 7.5 to play babysitter for your nutzo boss.”

 “Leon, “ Shaw begins slowly, hoping the feral grin drawing on her face translates through the phone. “This may surprise you, but I don’t care about your date later tonight. What I  _do_  care about though, is making sure other members of my team stay alive. So, if something happens to Finch, if he so much as stubs his toe this afternoon, and I find you aren’t watching him, the next time we speak I’m removing your tongue.”

 After a short pause, she hears a sigh and a reluctant “Fine. You got it.”

 “Good,” she says, smirking to the dusty hallway. “Now, mind filling me in on what you found out from the church records.”

 “Well, since I have nothing better to do now…” he grumbles, and Shaw hears papers flipping on the other end for a moment before he continues. “So yeah, apparently, each parish family has two options for weekly donations. They can donate cash during the Mass’ weekly collection,  _or_  they can use these pre-stamped envelopes with their family info on it, and toss the money in there. A lot of families want to do the latter and have the parish keep track so that at the end of the year the church can report it back to them for taxes or whatever.”

He pauses, and Shaw hears him sipping his drink, before flipping through more paper. “You know, for having a completely antiquated system, your nuns are actually keeping pretty good records. The random cash from each Mass is obviously untraceable to a specific person but it does look like there’s been a considerable increase overall in cash donations in the 3 years, since your new priest friend’s started. At first I thought that’d be an ingenious way for your loan shark to get my to the priest, but-”

 “- but Sharks don’t usually do a little at a time,” Shaw finishes, figuring it along with him. “And not over a number of years. It’d kinda defeats the purpose.”

 “ _Exactly_. So, I let me fingers do the walking and discovered that before our not-so-humble man of the cloth, actually has a checking account- under a false name- and  _that_  account has quite a bit of money in it. We’re talking almost 6 figures. Also of note- there was a deposit of $5000 in cash, about 6 months ago.”

 “Okay, well there’s the loan shark’s money, but it doesn’t explain the increase in cash at the church though…” Shaw says, leaning her head against the door behind her, exhausted by the day so far.

“Yeah, like I said, that stuff’s untraceable. Though I did find one oddity- a donation a year ago from a Philip DeKinoski & Family. Records have him donating steadily, doing an envelope with a flat $20 bucks in it each week. But there’s one week, last year, where he made a deposit for $1000. The week after, it went back to his regular $20, each Sunday. 11am Mass.”

“DeKinoski… sounds familiar…” Shaw racks her brain for the connection but comes up short. “Either way, sounds like Mr. D and I are going to have to have a come-to-Jesus meeting of our own…” Shaw relishes the opportunity to  _do_  something, rather than more boring snooping.

“Yeah well, just leave me out of it, alright,” Leon grumbles. “-And anything else after this. I’m serious!”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just make sure Finch stays in one piece.”

“Are you guys at least going to pick up my tab for the afternoon then?”

Shaw rolls her eyes and hangs up, tucking the phone away in the pocket of her robes quickly.

She thumps her head back lightly against the door once more, but is startled slightly when an she hears two loud answering thumps, from somewhere inside the room.

She turns, and opens the door to find Root sprawled out on the floor, and the room’s small dresser lying on its side beside her. Shaw rolls her eyes once more and closes the door behind her, before moving towards the hacker.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asks, stopping just shy of Root’s feet to stare down over the sprawled form below her.

“I wanted to see outside, it’s such a nice day… but then the dresser decided it didn’t want to play fair and… _poof_.” Root’s voice is light, and by the glazed way she stares at the ceiling as she answers, Shaw concludes the that drugs in her system are probably at their peak. “This is okay too I guess.”

“I leave you alone for a second and you go and get yourself concussed…” Shaw takes in the dopey grin on Root’s face, and wonders what it is that’s caused her to put up with Root this long even.

Root’s gaze finally slips from the ceiling and back onto Shaw. “Oh! There you are!” Root mumbles, her hazy eyes widened in wonder.

She frowns down at Root, “Get up.”

“Can’t.” Root says, lightly, shrugging.

“Yes,  _you can_ ,” Shaw replies, her words firm and measured, like she’s speaking with a child.

“ _Can’t_ ,” Root says again, this time her smile has morphed into a sort of pout. Root crosses her arms, only adding to the childishness of it.

Shaw sighs and, against her better judgment, leans forward over Root, extending her right hand. “Fine, here…”

Root stares at the offered hand, squinting at it distrustfully for a moment before nodding, a small smile blooming once again. She reaches up with her own right hand, slipping it into Shaw’s.

The rest happens quickly, and Shaw curses herself for letting her guard down. She grasps Root’s hand and is already moving to pull her up, when Root hooks her left foot behind Shaw’s right knee- sending Shaw purposefully tumbling down on top of her instead.

Root grins as Shaw lands haphazardly on her. “Nice of you to  _drop in_ ,” she chirps, now almost nose to nose with Shaw. “Ha- get it?”

“ _Root_ …” Shaw wants to yell in her face but the sight of Root’s still fully-dilated pupils serves as a reminder that at least part of the hacker’s current obnoxiousness if probably not within her command.

Though while she’s clearly not yelling at Root, Shaw realizes that she hasn’t moved from where she landed either. Shaw attributes this to the fact that her hand is still held by Root’s, effectively pinning it between their bodies awkwardly.

“ _Shaw_ …” Root drawls back, and even through the drug-induced haze, Shaw can tell this isn’t the hacker’s usual light flirtation. There’s a weightiness to her gaze, a look steeped in intention, and that alone should have been enough to send Shaw running for the hills.

“Root…” Shaw says slowly. She knows the effects that Diethyl Ether has. She knows that right now, Root is not in her right mind. She knows that Root  _were_  in her right mind, she’d know better than to look at Shaw like this- with all that…  _stuff_  written all over her face. Shaw knows that it’s wrong to take advantage of Root’s compromised state for her own edification and she  _absolutely_  knows that the right thing, the only good choice, would be to disentangle herself right now, and leave Root and that look (and all it’s complicated implications) to detox in this room alone.

Shaw knows all of this and yet the words she’d been ruminating about for so long come tumbling out anyway. “I don’t know what you want or what you’re expecting from this- from  _me_ \- but…” She trails off, not sure exactly what to say next.

Root cocks her head to the side slightly, still looking up at Shaw. “I don’t expect anything, really. Just you,” the taller woman replies lazily. Her left hand floats up slowly and brushes a few stray strands of hair out of Shaw’s eyes, before letting it slowly descending once more to the ground.

“I don’t believe you,” Shaw says slowly, the words short and round and tumbling down as she continues to stare, transfixed by the woman below her.

“Yeah… I know,” Root sighs, quietly, as if it’s a conversation she were familiar with- like they’d had this exchange hundreds of times already, and it’s something she should just accept.

“Believe me,” Root adds, chuckling darkly, “ _I know_.” Root turns her head to the side, unable to look Shaw in the face any longer and something inside Shaw twists unpleasantly because Root’s tone is one of defeat.

The air is heavy, but the tension is short lived as Root breaks it by chuckling once more, lighter this time. She turns back to Shaw and that weighty look has retreated. She dawns a childish looking pout, once again reminding Shaw of her intoxicated state, before adding. “You’re squishing me.”

Shaw wriggles her right arm out from where it was pinned between them and pops up to her feet once she’s freed. Then, just as quick, she leans down and scoops Root up, depositing her onto the bed roughly. Root lands with a surprised “Oof” and Shaw is quick to step back from the bed- almost to the wall even- hurriedly making space between them.

Root props herself up on her elbows, and aims a lazy grin in Shaw’s direction. “You’re pretty strong huh?”

“I guess.” Shaw replies, looking away. She finds she can’t look at Root any longer at the moment. She has a feeling that the image of Root staring with that look, and the accompanying sad, defeated “I know”, is going to play nonstop in her brain when she tries to sleep later tonight, and she’d rather not add to the data on that now.

The Spartan room doesn’t offer much else to look at though, so she trains her eyes on the high window above the spot the dresser used to be. She wills herself to think of something else- the mission- and goes over their current number and the intel they’d gathered, including all the new data from Leon. After a few moments, she’s left with only one thought, and surprisingly Root vocalizes it even before she can.

“So… what’s next?”

 

 *_*_*_*_*

 

He still can’t believe he’s going through with this, even as he slides onto the barstool next to their number, Albert Montoya.

It had been John’s suggestion that Finch try and engage the loan shark. Reese and Fusco had tried, and failed. Montoya had taken one look at them and said “I don’t speak with cops without a lawyer” before turning on his heel and leaving.

With what little they’d discovered in Montoya’s home and office, and nothing other than the meeting Shaw had witnessed to tie the loan shark to the priest, they needed more information. The lack of motive (other than the obvious money) nagged at Finch as well- something about it didn’t sit right. Other than Montoya’s occupation, there was very little to suggest the man was particularly prone to violence. In fact, the surveillance they had been able to complete seemed to indicate Montoya was actually somewhat of a upstanding citizen.

Hence, this afternoon’s “mission”. Reese and Fusco were otherwise occupied- taking the opportunity to search the number’s home finally- leaving Harold to engage with him.

Montoya sits to the left of him, slowly sipping at his whiskey, gaze fixed upwards on the bar’s antiquated TV. The local news anchor drones on casually about the city’s unemployment issues and Montoya seems to clench his jaw in time with the newscaster’s notes.

Finch orders a beer from the bartender, who places the brown bottle in front of him moments later. He takes the beer in hand, slipping quickly from it, before gesturing towards the TV. “They have it all wrong, you know.”

Montoya turns his attention to Finch, arching an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Finch nods at the TV again. “Blaming unemployment on the economy’s down turn is a gross simplification of a complex issue. While it’s certainly  _part_  of the picture, I think there’s much more in play that just that. Our current society’s new norms, for example, play a huge part. The demand for everything to be faster, easier, and cheaper is driving the market now, but companies can only streamline material cost so much. Employees with experience and skill cost more. More money, more time… so in order to cut costs, they’re cutting the people that cost the most, and hiring the people that cost the least.” He shrugs, taking a long pull of beer to punctuate his point.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, friend,” Montoya chuckles into his glass before taking a sip. He places his drink down in front of him, turning to Finch once more. “How long you been unemployed?”

Finch forces his own chuckle and takes a mirrored sip from his own drink. “Almost 8 months now.” He pauses. “It’s brutal out there.”

 “You got that right. What business you in?”

 “I  _was_  in computers…”

 “You’re in computers and you can’t find a job?” Montoya asks, skeptical.

 Finch shrugs. “Like I said it’s getting to be less and less about skill. I grew up with computers,  _invented_   _them_  practically, but they don’t want someone like me- someone who knows what my skills are worth and wants to be compensated for it.” Finch takes another long draw from his beer and hopes his behavior looks convincing. He places the, now, almost empty bottle in front of him on the bar before continuing.

“They want someone half my age, with not even half my skills, for half the price.” He lifts the bottle, and slugs down the rest, placing it down with a bit more force- in what he hopes reads as frustration. “They’ve made it impossible to make a living and now… well, now I’m doing things I wish I didn’t have to. Things I would never normally do… but that’s what happens you get desperate right?”

“Desperate… Right.” Montoya says, sipping the last of his own glass. “What uh… what sorts of things you talking about?”

Finch feels his own senses begin to soften a bit, the beginning of a buzz setting in. Still, he continues to focus on the mission, and makes a show of looking around briefly before leaning in closer to Montoya to convey his ‘secret’. “I’m a hacker,” He says quietly, before leaning back once more. He shrugs, “I know it’s not right, but desperate times, call for desperate measures.”

Montoya nods knowingly and signals for the bartender. “Another for me and,” he glances at Finch, “What’s your name, man?”

“Harold.”

“And one for Harry here too,” Montoya adds.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Finch says as the barkeep pours and he  _really_  wishes that Montoya hadn’t too. He’s already feeling the buzz from the beer and is quite aware that the tumbler of straight whiskey set in front of him is going to prove troublesome.

Montoya waves off the comment as gratitude though. “It’s nothing.” He lifts his glass, holding it out to Finch to toast. “To ‘The Fucking Economy’.”

Finch grabs his own glass, meeting Montoya’s with a gentle ‘clink’. “To ‘The Fucking Economy’,” he answers, and they both take a drink.

The whiskey- while not cheap- is certainly harsher than Finch’s usual preference and burns all the way down. Finch is thankful for the loan shark’s closed eye appreciation of the drink, as it causes him to miss Finch’s own slight wince. As drinks return to their spot on the bar, Finch decides to push forward for information, once again. “So what about you- what’s your name?”

“Albert.”

“Yeah, so, what about you Albert? You ever get that desperate? Desperate to do something slightly less than upstanding?”

Montoya nods, staring at his drink in his hands. “Yeah, I’m there right now actually.”

Finch know he needs to be strategic, to tread carefully, but the alcohol is staring to blur things slightly. He feels loose- too loose- and his normal poise and reserve is slipping more than his liking. “Well, come on then! Spill it already,” He says, a slight but sloppy grin growing on his face. “Sometimes if feels better to say things out loud, right? And if you can’t confess to a stranger in a bar, then who can you?”

Montoya chuckles, and it’s something dark and humorless. “Confession has brought me nothing but trouble in the past.”

Finch bites his lip, at this point opting to manually keep in some of the lesser tactful questions currently sloshing together in his mind. He sorts through them though, and opts to shrug and simply state, “Fair enough,” before reluctantly taking another sip of his drink and fixing his gaze towards the bar back, into nothingness.

Both men steep in silence for a few moments before Montoya shifts in his seat a bit. He’s stares into his glass for another prolonged moment, before raising it and knocking back the last few ounces in one gulp. He winces, before turning to Finch once more. “I’m a loan shark.”

Finch tries to suppress his grin- feeling quite successful at least drawing that much out. He steels himself though before nodding in what he hopes looks like grim understanding, before asking, “And you’d… rather not be?”

Montoya furrows his brow, “Of course not!” He turns towards the bartender, gesturing to both his and Finch’s glasses- signaling for another. The barkeep complies and fills the shark’s glass once more (and tops off Finch’s as well, much to his own dismay). The larger man continues on though, and Finch tries to focus on the man’s words, even as this own thoughts are becoming fairly soupy.

“In high school I took up boxing, was pretty good too. After I graduated, I did a few local fights. Nothing too big, but enough to make a name for myself around Hell’s Kitchen. I had money, I had a girlfriend, a nice car…man those were the days,” He smiles into his glass, before taking another long pull.

“Anyway, I bit off more than I could chew and got hurt. Fucked up my shoulder. Just like that, it was all gone. Money, the girl, all of it. These things happen though, right? No need to lose faith…” He sighs, turning the drink in his hand absently. “Anyway, I started working for this janitorial company. Worked hard, made supervisor in 3 years. Regional manager in another 5. Of course right after that was when the economy took a nosedive and- just like you said- they laid me off. Hired a bunch of guys straight outta high school who didn’t know their dicks from a bottle of solvent. I had eight years there- they made me a regional manager for fuck’s sake. I thought I had  _job security_ , you know? Fuck.”

Finch shakes his head in disgust and instantly regrets the action, as it causes the world to spin for a second. He places his hands on the bar, steadying himself. He looks down and wonders when his own glass got so empty, before turning back to the number. “So is that why- uh- when I mean… that when you turned to…  _you know_ …”

“Loan sharking? Yeah I sorta fell into it. I was still looking for legitimate stuff when a buddy told me a friend of a friend was looking for some ‘muscle’- he actually put it that way- and was good for some quick money. So I did it, and turns out I was good at it. I don’t know how it happened but one day I woke up and realized that somewhere along the way, I’d become someone I didn’t like. Someone I wasn’t. Shaking down people for money, using my muscle and not my head- that just ain’t me. Yet here I am.” He shakes the head, incredulously. “It’s been eating me up, you know?. I’ve always thought of myself as a good person, a good Catholic- just one of the good guys, you know? I’ve been trying to get out of it for almost 2 years now but it’s not that simple. I need the money, you know? I have a daughter to support.”

 “You do?” Finch’s eyebrows shoot up at admission. That was not something his research had turned up.

“Yeah- I didn’t even know about her for the first few years. My girl hadn’t told me she was pregnant when she left me- which was her choice, and I understand that ‘cause I don’t think I was someone worth knowing at the time. When I did find out though, a few years later, I just did what I could- I sent money. I still do- even after she died and my daughter went to my girl’s mother’s family. My daughter’s older now though, maybe old enough to understand why I’ve had to stay away. I want to get to know her now you know? But I can’t while I’m still doing this shark shit. It’s too dangerous.” The larger man finishes his drink once more, sighing heavily as he sets down the glass.

 “Sounds like you want to quit. What’s…er… stopping you?” Finch finished his own drink , and is leaning heavily on the bar, barely propping himself up. He knows he’ll have to finish his investigation soon, or risk saying something to blow his cover (or just risk blacking out).

Montoya chuckles, “It’s a long story. There’s more at play than just money. For  _me_  at least…” He stands, taking his wallet out and slapping some bills on the bar in front of him. He shrugs on his jacket, and pauses, turning to Finch once more. “You know, it’s funny- we grow up assuming you can tell the good people from the bad. That certain jobs and statuses are supposed to require a level of morality, of honor… Turns out no one is above reproach. No one.”

He sighs heavily, averts his gaze. “This is probably just me getting what I deserve though…” Montoya says quietly, before clearing his throat, and looking to Finch once more. “But what can you do right?” He slaps Finch’s back affectionately, almost shoving him right off the stool. “Nice meeting ya Harry. Good luck- I hope you can get yourself back to the right side of things too.” Before Harold’ foggy brain can process it, Montoya has walked out the door.

With the number gone, Finch realizes that  _going home_  as the only reasonable next step, considering his current intoxicated state. He stands, and makes it only as far as the next barstool before the room spins out under him, causing him to lose his equilibrium entirely.

Finch meets the ground hard and there’s a coinciding dull pain in his leg from the impact. He’s vaguely aware that pain is going to be much worse later today, and certainly tomorrow, but he has more pressing issues at the moment. Like how he’s going to get home if he can barely hold himself upright, let alone walk in a straight line.

Finch is considering his options from that position, flat on his back on the bar’s crusty floor, when a familiar figure steps into view above him.

“Shit, she’s going to cut my tongue out isn’t she?” Leon mumbles to himself, looking down and Harold’s splayed out form.

“Mr. Tao!” Finch exclaims with relief. “I’d completely forgotten your existence!”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope that continues after today too. Come on,” Leon says, grabbing Finch’s outstretched arms to help him up. Once upright, Leon drapes Finch’s shoulder over his and the two make their way awkwardly towards the door.

“It is really very kind of you to help me get home, Mr. Tao…” Finch slurs, his tongue thick from the alcohol. “And to have stayed as back up at all even!”

“Yeah well, you’re psychotic friend-“

“-Which one?” Harold interrupts, with a chuckle that peters into a rather unflattering hiccup.

“Yeah, forgot that I have to make that distinction…” Leon rolls his eyes as they arrive at his car. He opens the passenger side and helps Finch into the seat, before moving around and getting into the driver’s side himself.

“Anyway, yeah, your short, psychotic pit bull told me that if I didn’t help you out that she-“ He pauses, realizing something. “…that she wouldn’t be able to give me the money you’d promised to pay for sticking around helping you out today.”

“I said I’d pay you?” Finch asks slowly, doubt lacing his tone.

“You think I’d play babysitter if I  _didn’t_  have a really, really good motivation?”

“That would be out of character,” Finch admits. “Well then…” he says, smiling sloppily again. “…How much did I say I’d pay you again?”

Leon throws the car into drive and pulls out into traffic, grinning as they begin their journey back towards the library.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

It’s hard to say how long they had been paused like that, staring at each other, but Shaw estimates it’s been at least 4 or 5 minutes. Root’s last question of “now what?” still hangs in the air, and Shaw’s been debating the answer to it, since.

There are so many outliers, so many things about this case that don’t make sense; little missing pieces to a puzzle that leave the whole image obscured.

She glances at the clock at the wall, and sees that she’s missed most of the 5th period class that she should have been teaching. She should probably get back in time for 6th period- considering her prolonged absence is only going to raise more flags and cause her more of a mess to cover for and clean up.

And then it dawns on her. “DeKinoski,” she says, recalling a name Leon had mentioned earlier.

 “Hmm?” Root says from her spot across the room on the bed. She’s laying on her stomach, chin in her hands and elbows propping her up.

“I know where I’ve heard that name before… I need to go,” She turns and flings open the door, pausing before she’s out to turn back towards Root. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Root rolls over onto her back, letting her head loll over and hang over the side. She grins upside down back at Shaw and sing-songs a light, “Of course not.”

Shaw frowns, but decides to let it be. There are more pressing matters. “Whatever,” she mutters before heading out and closing the door behind her.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

John Reese is exhausted. Fusco had asked him for backup on a separate case but it turned out ‘back up’ meant ‘keep me company on a stakeout for 6 hours’. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except Fusco has insisted they listen to the Mets- Red Sox game on the radio, half way through.

Three hours of listening to Fusco vacillate between yelling at the announcer and “educating” John about the history of both teams, was more than enough to tire anyone out.

Never the less, he still pushes through and dutifully returns to the library to check in with Finch before- he hopes- returning home. When Bear greets him at the entrance though, whining and insistent, John knows there’s trouble. He draws his gun, and slowly sweeps the first floor, before ascending the staircase, Bear at his heels.

His muscles are tense, readying him to spring into action at any moment, but as he turns the corner and makes his way towards Harold’s desk, he finds that the scene he encounters is not one he was prepared for at all.

Of all the things Reese expected to find when he returned to the library, Harold Finch sprawled across Bear’s dog bed, asleep and snoring, was not one of them.

As Reese approaches and crouches next to the programmer’s supine form, he catches a whiff of whiskey on Finch’s breath and clothes. He grasps Finch’s shoulder, gently shaking him. The snoring stutters, and Finch gasps, sitting up quickly before grabbing his head and almost falling back when he does. John catches him, helping Finch sit up-right once more.

“Looks like drinks over lunch with our Number went well…” Reese says, unable to help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Finch removes his glasses, and rubs at his eyes for a moment before returning them to their proper spot. He squints at the taller man “Contrary to your sarcasm Mr. Reese, I believe it went  _quite_  well. I was able to get some solid information for our case…” Finch licks his lips, pausing for a moment before adding, “At least I think.”

Reese chuckles and stands. As he does, something flashing on the computer monitor near by, catches his eye. He strides over and quickly scans the information on screen. “Finch, you need to take a look at this…”

Finch moves to get up, awkwardly due to the light throbbing in his leg, but makes it to his feet. He shuffles slowly to join John at the computer. “What is it?”

Reese doesn’t respond, at first, still scanning, before finally answering. “Finch- it looks like we have another number…”

Harold examines the monitor and recognizes the woman’s face staring out from it. He turns, meet’s Reese’s gaze. “We have to contact Ms. Shaw.  _Immediately_ …”

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Root wakes with a start and wonders exactly when it was that she dozed off. She lays back on the bed once more, and closes her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment to run her hands down her face. There's a steady, rhythmic pounding inside her head- likely leftover from the ether. The headache strong enough that it takes an extra moment to even register the sound of the of the knocking at the door accompanying the banging in her head. 

She gets up slowly, and makes her way cautiously to the door. 

"Yes?" She asks of the solid wood door.

Receiving no answer, she places her hands flat on the door, leaning in to place her left ear on the door. After a moment, still detecting nothing, she pushes back once more. She moves to the handle, and opens it slowly. 

Taking in the unusual sight, she quirks an eyebrow in appreciation. This definitely wasn't what she was expecting. 

 

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT??? ------> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choice time! What unexpected thing does Root find when she opens her door?
> 
> A) Nothing and no one (who knocked?)
> 
> B) Mother Superior, completely drenched from head to toe.
> 
> C) A box of chocolates
> 
> And if you're reading this- you made it through this really, exceedingly long chapter! Congrats! I'm thinking things may wrap up in another 3 or 4 chapters (don't quote me that!). As always, thanks for reading and don't forget to vote for what happens next!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And readers have chosen... Option C! So now Root is going to find a mysterious box of chocolates on her doorstep (I'm jealous).
> 
> Also, this is probably a great time to add a quick disclaimer (if I haven’t already made it clear) that while many of the religious figures in this story have some very harsh stated views and rather deplorable behavior, these are not even remotely accurate portrayals of Catholic doctrine, beliefs, or practices- nor an accurate portrayal of the majority the religious workers within the Catholic church. (Nor my opinion of them either). :) 
> 
> Anyhow, now back to our ridiculous story, already in progress...

*_*_*_*_*

 

Root gets up slowly, making her way to the door. 

Yes?" She asks of the solid wood. Receiving no answer, she leans in and places her left ear against the door to listen. After a moment, still detecting nothing, she pushes back once more. She moves to the handle, and opens it slowly. 

Taking in the unusual sight, she quirks an eyebrow in appreciation. This definitely wasn't what she was expecting. 

There’s no one up and down the hallway, but her mystery visitor has left a gift at her door step. Root kneels down next to the box of chocolates to examine them closer. She listens for a moment but it doesn't appear there's any ticking sounds emanating from inside the box- so that’s a good start- but the box itself is missing the plastic casing so it has clearly been tampered with.

Root stands again, retreating to her room briefly before returning with a pair of tweezers from her kit. She kneels again, this time as far away as she can be, while still being able to reach the box. She stretches her hand out tentatively before giving the box a firm poke- moving it forward a few inches. She waits.

Nothing.

Satisfied that there aren’t any triggers under it at least, she inches forward once more and stretches out to reach it. She turns her body away slightly, preemptively shielding herself from whatever may be inside, and hesitantly uses the tweezers to pry the box’s top off.

She inches it up slowly bit by bit and just before it comes off completely she jerks her hand- tipping the top off completely and sending it skittering to the side.

Nothing happens, but she still waits a moment before inching forward to take a closer look.

Inside the box there are several chocolates- about 25 or so- each in their own individual wrappers. They don’t appear to be disturbed in any way but Root knows she’ll have to pick up and examine each one individually to be sure.

She stands, taking a glance up and down the hallway once more before leaning down and gathering the box and its top. That’s when she notices the note taped to the inside of the box’s cover. Root gathers it up and returns to her room quickly- closing her door behind her. She removes the note and unfolds it to read it.

_Mary Katherine (though we both know this is not your real name),_

_Your snooping and scheming have not gone unnoticed and neither have the deplorable actions of you and your associate. Meet me in the American Literature classroom when school ends I believe we have much to talk about._

Root flips the note over, hoping for more, but is denied. She chuckles lightly, amused by the idea that it is very unlikely this author has any idea who Root is- or  _what_  she is- let alone what she’s capable of. The meeting is clearly a trap, or at least potentially hostile situation.

So  _of course_  she’s going.

She glances at the clock- school is just ending and she’ll have to hurry up if she wants to be on time to meet her mystery date. She hurries around the room preparing. As she grabs her taser and tucks it into the pocket of her robe, she realizes that she’s smiling.  _This_  is what she likes- what she’s  _good_  at- after all. A chance to shine, after days of petty comments and criticisms (and more self-doubt than she’s dealt with in a long time), is welcome.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw had always been good with names, so it was only a matter of time before she realized that  _DeKinoski_  was the last name of one of the students from the class of 8th graders she’d given her fire-retardant gel demonstration to. Specifically, he was the terrified one who had asked what kind of nun she was, in response to her creative way of getting the classes attention. Upon realizing where she recognized the name, she rushes back to the school with the intention of intercepting and interrogating Mr. DeKinoski Sr. when he picks up his son.

The front of the school is crowded but Shaw picks out her target easily. Mr. Dekinoski Sr. looks like a perfectly proportionately enlarged version of his son, right down to the petrified expression on his face when he catches Shaw approaching.

Shaw has already mentally outlined her fictitious pretenses for asking to speak with the father, but it turns out those are completely unnecessary. When she approached him, Mr. DeKinoski immediately blanches and squeaks a pathetic, “Absolutely not!”

“Absolutely not  _what_?” Shaw asks, immediately intrigued.

“Bobby, go sit in the car,” he hushes to his son. The 8th grader looks quizzically from Shaw to his father, but takes the offered keys and heads in the direction of the school’s parking lot.

“I’m Bobby’s new science teacher,” Shaw begins.

“Oh,” Bob, sighs, body relaxing slightly. “My apologizes Sister. I thought you wanted to talk about, uh, about something else.”

“Might that ‘something else’ be about a certain financial transaction that occurred a little while back between you and Fr. Benjamin perhaps?”

“Shit- I mean crap- I mean-“ he looks around before lowering his voice and stepping closer to Shaw. “I thought we were  _done_  with that.”

“Done?” Shaw asks, not wanting to tip her hand too much.

“Look,” he continues in hushed tones, so close Shaw can see the sheen of sweat forming on his brow. “I paid his blackmail alright-  _and then some_. If Bobby didn’t need to finish out the school year, I’d be as far away as I could from this place. I want nothing more to do with Fr. Benjamin and you can tell him I said so!”

Shaw would almost be impressed with the man’s bravado, but the trembling in his hands and the look on his face (half nauseated half like he might burst into tears) took away from the effect.

“You can just tell him- tell him that it’s disgraceful what he’s doing. It’s an insult to the religious community,” He continues.

“And what is that exactly?”

Bob sighs heavily. “Look, I know what I did was wrong- I could face up to 20 years for inside trading- but what  _he’s_  doing? Taking what people tell him in confession and using it as blackmail…” He shakes his head in disgust. “That’s just disgusting.”

Bob pauses, and his expression changes to one significantly more composed. “I am NOT going through this again, alright? I have a family- you teach my kid for heaven’s sake! So you can tell  _Ben_ , that I’ve had enough! I’m not playing his game anymore. And if you, or that other psychotic nun lackey of his approach me again, I’ll go to the cops! I don’t care if they lock me up too, just keep this away from my family!”

He turns to go, but Shaw grabs his arm stopping him. “Wait- what psychotic nun?”

Bob wrenches his arm from her grasp, rolls his eyes and continues to stalk away towards the parking lot.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Root makes her way cautiously to the classroom, though she doubts the last straggling students roaming the hallways are paying her any mind. To them, she’s just another nun passing by.

She idly runs her thumb over the handle of the Taser hidden in her robe pocket and shakes her head. The anger at being caught unaware and drugged from earlier simmers just below the surface and the anticipation of a potential fight with her mystery guest floods her with adrenaline. She really does hope they have more than veiled threats waiting for her. She would love a chance to take back some control.

The classroom inside is darkened so when Root enters the only illumination is from the hallway lights streaming in. She only has to take one more step inside before she hears the familiar sound of a gun’s safety clicking off, from behind her. She sighs lightly- partially from contentment that she’s going to have some fun after all, and partially from how boringly predictable things have been so far.

The grin that was already growing only expands when she turns around and recognizes her aggressor. “And here I thought nuns were supposed to be pacifists or something.”

“That’s funny, coming from someone like  _you_ ,” the Mother Superior says, surprisingly matching Root's rather blasé tone. The nun closes the door behind herself, letting the darkness of the room envelop them both.

Margaret Elizabeth appears calm, the gun in her hand is held firmly and confidently. Root notes that the way the older nun holds the gun is very similar to the way Shaw holds it, denoting some sort of experience and training with firearms _. Well that’s unexpected,_  she thinks, pleased that at least something is still a surprise.

“Something funny, Mary Katherine?- Though I’m fairly that’s not you real name, and quite doubtful you’re even a nun at all.”

“My, my, you are quick aren’t you. What else do you think you know?”

The nun smirks, though she appears anything but amused. “I’m more interested actually, in what  _you_  know.” She advances towards Root a bit, causing the hacker to back up a few feet until her back legs bump into one of the desks. “I think,” the nun begins again, “It’s time for you to go to Confession…”

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Shaw’s still trying to wrap her mind around the situation when heads back inside the now deserted school. A quick check of her cellphone reveals that the device is dead, causing her to curse her own negligence in charging it.

She strides quickly down the school's hallway, on her new mission to find a phone that works, and notes that most of the other classrooms and offices are darkened- with the exception of Mother Superior’s.

Something about this propels Shaw to quicken her pace and when she ducks into the teacher’s lounge she locks the door behind her-just in case the inquisitive older nun were to come snooping. She grabs the phone receiver and stabs out Finch’s number, silently urging him to pick up.

“ _Hello_?”

“Finch- we have a problem.”

“Ms. Shaw-  _thank goodness_. We’ve been trying to contact you. The Machine-“

“-can wait, this is  _important_. I finally figured out what the hell is going on.” Shaw growls. “The good Father has been using people’s private confessions to blackmail them which mean’s Montoya’s probably one of his victims too.“

“Ms. Shaw, we have to-“

“-There's more Finch. The priest also has one of the nuns here doing his dirty work for him. The last victim said something about a psychotic nun, and I have a good feeling it might be-“

“-Sister Margaret Elizabeth, the Mother Superior?”

That finally stops Shaw. “You guys knew?”

She hears a heavy sigh on the end of the line. “That’s we've been trying to contact you about. The Machine gave us her number several hours ago. We were concerned she was another potential victim however under the circumstances…”

“…Probably not so much,” Shaw sighs, and again wonders how she didn’t see this before. Then again, there have been several distractions, least of all being Root.

_Shit_. She forgot about Root.

“I need to find Root…” Shaw says, realizing she needs to warn the former killer-for-hire about the  _actual_  threat before Root goes and does something stupid. Like shooting the wrong perp.

“Ms. Groves can handle herself,” Finch says, as if reading her mind. “You need to find Sister Margaret Elizabeth. The wiretap Ms. Groves put on Father Benjamin’s phone revealed a meeting between he and Montoya in a little under an hour. We’re not sure exactly where this meeting is set to occur so I’ve sent Mr. Reese to follow Mr. Montoya. He’ll have to follow closely as we still aren’t sure which number is intending to harm whom even. Both have motive, after all.”

“Well I’m pretty sure Mother Superior Cranky-pants a threat. She was the one who told me to go out back and meet up with our friendly neighborhood Polish Mafia buddies in the first place. She must have somehow been tipped off that we were looking into the priest. This whole thing is a fucking mess Finch...”

“Polish mafia?” He asks, sounding slightly alarmed.

Shaw sighs, impatient. “Not important right now. Root got the brunt of that anyway. She’s probably still sleeping off the drugs in her room. Hopefully.”

“ _Drug_ s? Ms. Shaw, I  _strongly suggest_ , especially in the light of the previous attempt on your life, that you leave Ms. Groves to her own devices and stick close with Sister Margaret. If she is as dangerous as you say, we can’t leave her unaccounted for when Fr. Benjamin and Mr. Montoya do meet. We cannot allow for any more unknown variables than we already have.”

“Fine. I think she’s just down the hall in her office anyway. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Good. I’ll continue to attempt to contact Ms. Groves, though I’m afraid her phone has been going straight to voicemail as well.”

“Yeah, mine’s dead too. I’ll find Margaret, and see what I can squeeze out of her…”

“Ms. Shaw- if you’re implying you’re going to use advanced interrogation techniques on a member of a religious order-“

“I’m not going to water board her Finch, just  _press_ her a little. We’re running out of time for niceties anyway...” She pauses, “Unless you’d rather let Root do it?” She smirks.

“No I think that would be most unwise, and let me again state my  _strong_  objection to what you’re suggesting-”

“-Fine,” Shaw huffs. “I’ll see what I can do. But when this all goes sidewise, just remind Reese to double check which nun he’s shooting at.” Shaw hangs up, and moves to the door. She cracks it slightly, peeking around slightly until the Mother Superior’s office is in view. The light is still on, but Shaw’s not convinced the nun is actually in there.

She makes her way down the hall and stops in front of the office door. She presses her ear to it, waiting, but hears nothing.

“ _Sister Agnes_ ,  _what are you doing?”_

Shaw pushes away from the door and whirls toward the voice causing Sister Nora throws up her hands in surprise. “Goodness! Sorry if I surprised you!” the young nun says, clutching her own chest at the reaction.

“I was looking for Mother Superior actually,” Shaw says. “Do you know where she is?”

“As a matter of fact,” Sister Nora smiles, “I was looking for her too. I think I know where she might be, too. Follow me,” she says, turning on heading towards the building’s exit.

Leaving Shaw little choice, the ex-operative follows. Her hand slips inside her robe pocket, settling on her weapon though, she might have to protect one nun from the other if it comes down to it.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

“I’m afraid I’ve never been very religious, so I’m not sure how comfortable I am with confession,” Root says lightly, as the nun finishes tying her hands behind her back and securing her limbs to the chair.

At threat of gun point Root had been forced to empty her pockets. Her taser now rests on the table several feet from her and Root is less than happy about that.

“I’m afraid my patience is not what it used to be either,” Sister Margaret continues, pulling up a chair and sitting so she faces Root. “So, I suggest you decide if you’re more comfortable telling me what I want to know, or remaining under the sight of my gun.”

“What is it you want to know?” Root asks, more curious than coerced.

“I want to what you do. I want to know about Fr. Benjamin’s operation, all the different pieces- everything.”

_So would I_ , Root thinks ruefully. “I’m not sure I can do that actually.”

“Oh, I have reason to believe you can,” the nun sneers. “I know a wolf in sheep’s clothing when I see one. I’m afraid that I could spot what you really were as soon as I laid eyes on you.”

“And what is that exactly?”

“A sinner of the worst kind.”

Root’s jaw grinds at the accusation, and the motion stretches what would normally be a frown, instead into a tight line of consternation.

“I’ve seen many like you before, but you’re all the same,” the nun continues. “The false bravado, the gleaming exterior presented to the world, sometimes even false statements of redemption- but it’s all just a façade, isn’t it? Something nice and tidy to present to others to mask the deficit with in. Those impulses- to hurt, to lie, to steal- they're all still there under the surface. It’s almost an illness isn't it?All that  _weakness_.”

“The good news is that you still have choices to make though. And while those choices certainly won’t make up for the sin inside, I’m going to give you an opportunity to choose something  _good_  right now and maybe,  _maybe_ , that’ll be a start. …” The older woman turns around and replaces the gun she was holding with the taser. She rights herself and positions the taser in hand to Root’s chest. “I’m going to need to know what you know about Fr. Benjamin’s operation. Every last detail. They say confession’s good for the soul, my dear. I think it’s about time you unburden yourself…”

Root’s heart beats wildly, just under the spot where the taser is pressing down and she thinks about Control and the last time she was tortured. She wonders if  _this_  time will be it- the thing that pushes her already damaged heart over the edge- and wonders briefly if maybe,  _maybe_  this nun might be right.

Root never had anyone she cared enough about to value their opinion of her. She never had anyone else period really. Now that she does though, the idea that they might not find her “good” enough, that they may not accept her or trust her because of her past, is more upsetting than she’d like to admit. Being “good” or even “good enough” was never something she’d worried about before, but now she finds herself doubting.

As the nun presses the taser edge harder into her chest, she finds herself actually wondering if she’s spent too much time being “bad” to ever be seen as something other than that. She wonders if anyone could look at her- specifically if  _Shaw_  could look at her- and trust her. And, if that’s the case, if John couldn’t, and Harry couldn’t, and  _Shaw_  couldn’t… she wonders if a shock to the heart might just be the best thing for her.

Root closes her eyes, and waits. The nun presses a little harder but a different buzzing sounds instead.

A cellphone vibration.

Root opens her eyes as the pressure of the taser relents, and the Mother Superior digs in her own robes to answer the phone in question.

"Geez does everyone have a cellphone here?" Root quips, but only receives a glare from the nun in return.

Margaret answers the phone with a brief “Yes?” and Root watches as the nun's look of annoyance morphs into one of sickening glee. “Yes Sir, I’ll get there right away.” She hangs up, and turns to address Root once more. “It’s your lucky day m’dear. It seems that Judgment Day has come a bit early and I need to be there to ensure other guilty parties are served accordingly.”

The older nun collects her firearm from the table, and tucks it back in her robe, along with Root’s taser. She moves to the desk at the front of the classroom and withdraws a roll of duct tape as well, making quick work to tape over Root’s mouth as well.

Root glares up at the other nun, causing Sister Margaret to chuckle. “Now, now, don’t despair. I’ll be back later to make sure you still have that opportunity for confession…” She moves to the door, leaving Root where she is, still bound to the chair. “Just think of this as more time to mull things over. See you soon,” And with that the nun slips out the door, leaving Root in the darkness, alone.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

What happens next??? ----->

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it looks like the next chapter is the last chapter. I’ve already made a vague outline plot-wise (just to make sure all loose ends are sown up as much as possible) and things are going to take a twist for sure! So, in the spirit of making things even more wacky, this last _Choose Your Own Adventure_ option set is even more open ended. SO, feel free to choose up to **THREE** of the following insane options you’d like to see included in the plot somehow. Note: Remember nothing will end in angst or death, so have fun! (I know I will). Don't forget to vote!
> 
> Which three things would you like included in the final chapter?:
> 
> A. “How did you know it was my birthday???”  
> B. Fusco to the rescue?  
> C. Comical slip on a banana peel  
> D. Something literally explodes. Big time.  
> E. A flying nun  
> F. “I didn’t know you knew how to dance”  
> G. At least…7 _Sister Act_ references.  
>  H. Someone on Team Machine gets shot.  
> I. Shaw gets hugged no less than 3 times.  
> J. “I try and keep it clean, but blood stains are really hard to get out.”


End file.
